


If I Only Could

by miscreantblueberry



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barista!Tony, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, But It'll Be Okay, But Not As Much As You'd Think, Character Death, F/M, Hacker!Tony, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Kidnapping, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Steve Rogers, SHIELD agent!Steve, SHIELD agenting, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:19:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscreantblueberry/pseuds/miscreantblueberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD Agent Steve Rogers meets Tony Stark, a barista at Malibu Point Coffee Bar, and is smitten. Only, he can't tell Tony what he does for a living. Keeping secrets eventually puts Tony in danger with SHIELD enemies, but Tony has a few secrets himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a fanvideo by Firenstone_221B, which included a TON of clips from not only Marvel movies, but other films with Chris Evans or RDJ. I used a lot of the same quotes/voiceovers as that video, so I've got a list because copyright.
> 
> A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints, Puncture, Fantastic Four 1 and 2, Iron Man 1, 2, 3, Due Date, Push, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, London, Playing It Cool, Wonder Boys, Route 50, Avengers, Thor 1, CA 1, Singing Detective, What's Your Number, Less Than Zero, Cellular.
> 
> I own nothing. By the way you should watch the video, but maybe wait till later if you don't want to know what happens in this fic. If you care not, watch it here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyrWNhbHB_8 It is breathtaking.

There was a crash across Steve's dingy apartment kitchen and then Tony was stomping toward him, rage bubbling behind brown eyes that pinned Steve to his own kitchen chair.

"Did you love me?"

Steve opened his mouth but no sound came out. Tony stared at him, visibly fuming.

"C'mon, lie to me and tell me you did. Make me feel like the piece of shit I am, DID YOU LOVE ME OR _NOT_!"

Steve gaped as he realized exactly where this was coming from, what Tony was talking about. His heart pounded in his ears and suddenly he was choking on his own breath. _Heknowsheknowsheknows_ –

"Just -" his voice cracked and he couldn't get anything out.

"ANSWER ME!"

The world crystalized. This was it. It was over, Tony was never going to forgive him for this and he had no excuses to give. "Just give me a chance," he choked out. It was quiet and all Steve could really say, and more than he had the right to ask. Of course he loved Tony. But if anything had proven that Tony deserved better, it was this right here.

Tony was panting, staring at Steve like he was really seeing him for the first time. He shook his head in disgust and turned away. Steve watched as his shoulders bunched up and _fuck_ , this couldn't get any worse - he knew what Tony looked like when he was about to cry and tried to hold it back anyway. He'd faced him before, voice gentle as he told him it was okay not to shove it down all the time. He knew what his face looked like in moments like this, tortured and small, eyes glittering and mouth pressed hard. Tony stayed like that for a while, and all he wanted to do was reach a hand out. Every tensed muscle, every uneven breath - he wanted to take it away, take it back, do it all again differently. It wasn't supposed to end up like this.

Finally Tony spoke, his back still turned, and his voice was final and absolute.

"No."

Steve expected as much, but it still felt like a punch. He nodded and forced his voice to stay steady.

"Then if you run now, I won't tell them where you are, or where you're going."

There was a tiny pause - one small moment left for Steve to look at him, be with him, remember every curve and breath. And then Tony sped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. All at once that terrible pressure was gone, but the air had been sucked out the door when Tony slammed it and it was like Steve's childhood asthma had come back. The air was solid, hard, not breathable –

Steve stared at the door, where his entire future had just left him and was never coming back. At the flaking paint on the kitchen cabinets, the dull yellow of the walls, the listened to the ringing that pressed his ears. The silence felt like death.

It would give Steve nightmares every day for a week.

***

It figured.

He gripped his third cup of black coffee until his knuckles were white. He was trying not to grind his teeth, but motherfucker. He felt the heat on his face and knew he'd be bright red with humiliation for probably ever.

It fucking figured. The first time since Peggy that he puts himself out there and secures a date, and she's a no-show. He'd left work early, showered and dressed up in his best shirt for that girl, and headed over to this hipsterish coffee joint only to sit in the back corner for – he checked his watch – over an hour now. He replayed their conversation in his head. Maybe he'd missed something; he'd been awfully distracted by the shiny blond hair and the legs that never seemed to end. But no – _I'll be there_ , she'd said, then smiled at him sweetly.

His leg paused its anxious bounce for a minute - what if something had happened to her? An accident or a kidnapping or – no. No no no, Rogers. She was a doctor at a pediatric ward. She didn't get kidnapped. She'd fallen asleep, or gotten swept up in the newest season of American Horror Story, or had just decided he wasn't worth the drive. Steve needed to get better at separating his work life from everyone else's. His leg started bouncing again.

Ever since he became a SHIELD agent – and to a lesser extent, since he joined the military – he’d almost exclusively handled high-risk cases. Bombings, kidnappings, assassinations, and hostage situations were the norm; flirting on the other hand, not so much. Steve had really been trying with this Sharon girl. He held back a sigh, glaring at his coffee like it had bad-mouthed his mother. He wasn't big on self-pity, but _gosh_.

"Now who in their right mind would stand up a guy like you?"

Steve looked up. He'd been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't even heard the chair scrape the floor. A man sat there, elbows on the table, smirking at him.

"What?"

The smile turned wicked. "I said you're hot. What's her name?"

Steve blinked. The man across him had messy black hair and big brown eyes that pierced somehow despite their color. A smirk, Steve noticed, looked devastatingly good on him, as if he was born to joke and mock. The name tag on his chest read _Hi, my name is TONY_. The barista who'd served him his three coffees – how had he not realized?

He sighed, dragging his eyes away. "Doesn't matter really."

"Doesn't matter...her name, or that you're hot? I mean, yeah, I guess both in this case, sorry about that by the way, but clarification is generally cool regardless."

Steve frowned at him. The barista'd just decided to abandon his post at the cheerfully colored counter to invade Steve's space? "Her name doesn't - I apologize, but it’s not really your business."

The man only leaned forward, eyes dancing in the ambient cafe lighting like he knew some secret Steve didn’t. "Oh but c'mon, it’s nearly midnight and you're my only customer left, looking like someone pants'ed you and stole your lunch money. My shift doesn't end till 6am and I need something to do – I might as well try to help Tall Blonde and Handsome out of his slump."

Steve huffed, "I'm not sure you'd be able to help me."

The barista's grin turned wicked again, and he leaned forward. "That so? Five bucks says you're wrong. I'm remarkably helpful to beautiful, sculpted men. But, you know, practice makes perfect, you'd be doing me a favor if you let me help you out with whatever's eating you."

Steve’s mouth did not fall open. He couldn't stop the blush heating his cheeks though - he felt it. The man's eyes pinned him down, and Steve cleared his throat.

"I don't do one-night stands, mister. Not really that kinda guy."

Brown eyes switched. Tony’s face lost its suggestive smirk and danced with mirth again, and Steve reeled a little from the mental whiplash. He pointed at his chest and smiled, flashing perfect teeth. "Hey, I clearly have a name, so use that thing. Not the _mister_ bullshit."

Steve blinked. "Tony."

Tony looked up. "Yes? And what's your name, hot stuff?"

He didn't know whether to be annoyed or amused by now. Probably both? "Uh - Steve. Steve Rogers."

Tony stretched his hand across the table. "Pleasure to meet you Steve."

He surprised himself by taking it. Tony's hand was warm and calloused. It slotted into his own perfectly. "Likewise."

He was more surprised when he realized he wasn't lying. Tony was looking at him again with that spark in his eyes. His lashes were dark and thick and framed his face almost delicately. "So why plan a date this late then? Not exactly the best time for romancing in the PG way."

The corners of his mouth lifted of their own volition, and Steve thought that maybe the night wouldn't be all bad. "I work late, and she - works at a hospital, so it works - well, should've worked, for the both of us."

Black hair fell into Tony's eyes as he cocked his head, and Tony didn't seem to notice. "What do you do?"

Steve smiled a little. "If I tell you..."

Tony jerked back in disbelief rolling his eyes. "Oh no, do not finish that sentence, Rogers." After a minute he blinked. "Wait, are you serious."

Steve laughed. "Sort of. What about you? Graveyard shift at a cafe all you have going on?"

Years of training caught the split second hesitation, the darkening of that spark in Tony's eyes, immediately smothered with an easy grin. "Not so much, this place means free coffee and something to do for the hours I'll be awake anyway. I don't really sleep."

Steve's brows furrowed. "At all?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "I mean no, eventually I drop for a couple hours, but on a day-to-day basis I don't make a habit of it."

"Why?"

Tony shrugged, staring at a spot past Steve's shoulder. His lips twitched up. "Its a waste of time, got better things to do." Steve knew from his face that there was more to it than that, but didn't say so.

"Yeah, like what?"

Tony smirked. "Like chatting up modelesque blonde types, for starters."

Something hot pulled at Steve's gut, but at least he didn't blush this time. Tony leaned in, looking conspiratorial. "I'm not- am I misreading this? Because, Steve, sugar bear, if I am and you don't go for the male persuasion then I'll back off with the come-ons - no that's not true, I won't but I'll at least make an effort."

"I - no. You're not misinterpreting things. You do come on quite strong, though."

Tony, shrugged, but he was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Steve didn't think he'd ever seen a set of straighter teeth. "Well, no one's ever said I aim to please. I'm something of an opportunist."

Steve smiled. "So you came here, not to comfort a lonely customer who'd just gotten stood up - but purely to proposition me in the slight chance I might be less than straight?"

Tony pouted. "The way you look certainly wouldn't discourage me, so."

"I see. You're only after me for my body."

"Sure."

"So you don't really want to get to know me at all?"

"What? Where are you getting that from, Rogers. I'm a materialist, your body's also your mind and soul, and I wanna know all that shit. You, my friend, I wanna get _well_ acquainted with."

Steve leaned forward a little, amused. "What is it you'd like to know?"

Tony smiled. "You go to college?"

"Yes, after my time in the military I spent a few years at a university studying art."

"How long were you in the military?"

"Six years."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-four"

"Does your job include art?"

He snorted. "No."

"Why the laugh?"

"Because it doesn't include art."

"Do you kill people?"

"Twice daily." That got a laugh out of Tony. Steve felt a little breathless at the sight. "What about you? What are you like?"

Tony looked over Steve's shoulder again, fingers tapping in the table as he shrugged. "Not much to report. Went to college, got some odd jobs, kept odd hours."

"Where did you go to school?"

"MIT." Steve blinked.

"What?"

Tony looked at him. "Yeah. Graduated when I was seventeen."

"Seventeen...from MIT?" Tony nodded.

"So you've gotta be a genius then."

He smirked holding his hands up in a guilty-as-charged gesture.

"Certified." Steve whistled.

"So then what, again, are you doing working here and not - I dunno - designing giant robots or something?"

Tony sighed in mock exasperation. "I already told you, I'm an insomniac."

"But - here?" He gestured around at the beige carpets, cheerful orange walls and smooth jazz crooning over the intercom. Tony shrugged.

"I like coffee."

He shook his head, staring. "You're…weird."

"I prefer eccentric, but I'll take it." He pointed at the empty cup in Steve's hands. "Want another?"

"What? Oh sure."

"On the house." Tony uncurled himself from the chair and walked back toward the counter. There was a grace in his steps, not militaristic or predatory like he was used to, and somehow more mesmerizing for it. Tony had an incredible ass.

Steve tore his eyes away and listened to the quiet bustle behind the counter. A moment later Tony pushed a steaming cup across the table.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it soldier boy. Hey, so, I've been thinking, this has been fun and you are gorgeous, whadaya think of doing this again sometime? Maybe even when the sun’s out?"

Steve thought about it. "I should get off work by noon next Tuesday." Tony beamed and a breath caught in Steve's throat.

"Tuesday noon it is then. Should I pick you up?"

"You don't even know where I live." Tony's eyes sparkled.

"I'm good at finding people. Even if you didn't tell me I think I'd manage."

"That's a little creepy, Tony."

"Says the guy who kills people."

"That was a joke!"

"Sure, muscles." Steve rolled his eyes, and pulled a napkin out of the holder.

"Got a pen?"

Tony quirked and eyebrow, but got up and walked to the counter anyway. "Old fashioned much?"

Steve just shrugged with a smile, accepting the pen and clicking the end of it. "So I live in Brooklyn. Hope you don't mind the drive."

He held the napkin out to him, and Tony eyed it for a second before smiling.

"Just set it down, I'll grab it. So what do you wanna do on your first date since getting stood up?"

"Way to remind me."

"Hey, I'm no one’s babysitter. But seriously, what're you thinking. Lunch?"

Steve nodded. "Let's go to Central Park."

Tony leaned forward with an easy grin, resting his head on folded arms. "Ooh, should've pinned you as a romantic." Steve laughed and sort of wanted to draw him.

"I don't know about that...but I try to show my dates a good time, and I love my city."

Tony's nose wrinkled theatrically. "You one of those patriotic types?"

"Yes."

"Wow, not an ounce of remorse."

"Are you not?"

Tony smirked at him. "I doubt everything. Not good with authority."

It hit Steve hard, again, that the man across from him was hopelessly beautiful. It was in the skeptical quirk of his brows, and the intensity of his eyes. Steve didn't think he'd ever be able to look away. His voice came out softer than he'd intended.

"Oh come on, you can't doubt everything."

Tony grinned cheekily. "Sure do. With luck I might rub off in you." He plucked the napkin that Steve hadn't handed to him, and held it up like a prize. He beamed. "I think we'll do well together, Steve."

Steve grinned, watching him. He couldn't help but agree.

***

_Steve, what the fuck is going on? I've called four times now. Pick up your goddamn phone. I'm getting worried._

Message deleted. Next message.

_Official SHIELD voice memo: Rogers, we need you to report. I have no clue if that Stark kid is still a threat to SHIELD and when I don't know something, it’s time for people to get fired. Has he been apprehended? Have this information ready for me yesterday._

Message deleted. Next message.

_Steve, for fuck’s sake, pick UP –_

Message deleted. Next message.

_Steve, its Natasha. Was Tony Stark...YOUR Tony? Did you know? I need to know if you were compromised throughout this mission._

Message deleted. Next message.

_Steve. Why didn't you tell me about Tony? I'll be over at your apartment with ice cream and Jack Daniels in fifteen._

Message deleted. End of new messages.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten fake bucks will go to anyone who catches the reference to our favorite Marvel antihero. Like you could be ten pretend dollars richer.

The door buzzed as Steve slid his key card over the scanner. He took familiar steps through sterile halls as the people around him bustled, hands full of papers, files, and the occasional scientist’s vial of corrosive mystery substance. He was running late, and Fury was going to tan his hide after he realized that one of his top agents – who, by the way, was _never late_ – was not in fact dead or dying at the hands of some terrorist and was, rather, just running late for everyday reasons.

Well for other people, they would be considered everyday reasons. Steve, however, had never before been late on account of spending an extra slice of the clock this morning getting ready for his date, at noon, with one of the most beautiful men he’d ever laid eyes on. He entered the conference room working hard to smother his giddy smile.

“The fuck _took_ you so long, Captain?”

Steve tried not to blanch, glancing at the clock above Colonel Fury’s head. Two minutes late. Oh lord, he was _in_ for it.

He stood tall. “I apologize, Colonel. It won’t happen again.”

His boss’s single uncovered eye fixed him with a glare that could peel paint off cars in the SHIELD garage five floors down. Steve resolutely did _not_ gulp. Finally, Fury gave a grudging nod.

“Damn right it won’t. Take a seat.”

He hurried to do so, tucking in next to Romanov. The redhead shot him a subtle look that clearly read “Where the fuck you been?” to people who knew her well. He shook his head at her, then turned his attention back to Fury.

“Coulson, report on Japan.”

Agent Phil Coulson was a thin haired, middle-aged man with a deceptively genial face. His voice might have been even more unassuming, putting people at ease when, for all intents and purposes, he was the last person you should ever feel comfortable around. He could probably snap necks with his toes.

“The operation was a success. The asset maintained his cover despite attempts to reveal or make him. Oyakata is still alive – the asset, as planned, disobeyed orders and refused to assassinate him.”

Steve had no clue what had happened in Japan, or who Coulson’s asset was – it was customary, SHIELD’s top agents reporting directly to Fury about the most high-risk (and accordingly most thoroughly classified) operations, all in each other’s presence. It was the golden rule of SHIELD in general, but especially of the agents in this room: thou shalt not ask about each other’s missions. And no one in this room had gotten this far because they took SHIELD policy lightly.

“Asset yet unaware we’ve got eyes on him?”

“He has no idea, sir.”

“Barton, report on New Mexico.”

And it went on like this, with a bored-looking Clint explaining the highlights of what sounded like an incredibly bizarre operation. Steve couldn’t really focus; every time he blinked, intelligent brown eyes pierced into him with that knowing look. He wanted to make Tony laugh, to see him smile. He could only hope that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself at lunch today; he could feel himself getting tongue-tied and stupid now just thinking about him.

“Romanov, report on Morocco.”

“Target neutralized. No witnesses. The body will be found in the Dades River on Thursday.” Steve blinked.

“How did you time that?”

The Golden Rule might have seemed an inch from being broken, but everyone in the room knew what this was. Natasha had worked in the field longer than any of them, and Steve sort of saw her as a mentor – a terrifying, homicidal mentor. She looked at him.

“I tied the body down with salt weights. Slow dissolving. In forty-eight hours the corpse will be weight-free.”

Steve nodded, and turned his attention back to the front.

“Rogers, report.”

Target neutralized. One witness, a henchman, also neutralized. Henchman’s body was moved to the fourth floor of the building to prevent any forensics backtracking, otherwise untampered with the room, obviously left spotless and wiped clean. I threw the target’s body in a drainage ditch five miles out after dislodging my bullet from the target’s head.”

Fury looked almost impressed, but it looked sarcastic on his face. “Thorough.”

“Only for you, sir.”

Clint snorted, slipping him a grin from across the table.

There was a soft knock at the entrance, and an agent with an immaculate, newly-pressed suit and tie peeked in through the crack in the door.

“U-um, Director Fury?” He spoke softly and his voice wavered.

Fury shifted his glare, currently customized for one Agent Rogers, onto the nervous man.

“There – there’s been a situation, sir?”

“Is that a _question?”_

The agent’s face turned beet-red, and he stared down at his polished shoes. He pushed thick glasses up his nose, and Steve sort of felt terrible for him.

“N-no sir, there has been a situation with the servers, sir.” His voice was practically a whisper by the end of his sentence.

Fury’s, on the other hand, was deadly. “What kinda situation are we talking about here?”

The agent, looking ready to bolt (or flee the country, which’d be slightly more effective in evading Fury’s, well, fury) ducked his head low like he was steeling himself.

“We’ve. Been hacked.”

Steve had worked under SHIELD over seven years now. Of all the horrific and bizarre things he’d seen and done, he couldn’t recall ever having heard a sentence like that come out of a SHIELD agent’s mouth. Now he saw where the guy’s terror was coming from.

Fury seemed almost as caught off guard, staring at the man (who was actually shaking with fear) by the door.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“I – yes.”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Yes, SHIELD has been hacked. We have been so far unable to trace the location of the hacker, and they bypassed our firewalls in less than four minutes.”

Natasha was frowning. “That doesn’t make sense, no one has ever made themselves untraceable.”

The agent looked at Natasha like she’d just offered him free poison-free lunch. “That’s what we’ve been trying to understand as well.”

Fury stood. “I want all hands on deck. If you know how to hack, you’re on this motherfucker. Romanov, you’re with me. The rest of you, fuck off for the day. We need to focus on this.”

With that, he stormed out of the conference room, the trembling junior agent and an unruffled Natasha in his wake.

Steve blinked.

“What…the fuck.”

“Classy, Barton.”

“C’mon Hill, you can’t tell me you’ve seen this shit before.”

Hill was one of those frighteningly competent people who, fortunately, hadn’t set their minds to world domination or genocide or something equally awful, because they could probably get it done in a number of hours. Her every word and movement spoke of a half-casual, probably subconscious efficiency that he’d never seen in anyone else, not even Coulson. Steve had never talked to her outside of work; on principle, she seemed to shirk human interaction unless it was streamlined through work or missions. Steve looked across the table at her now, and admittedly his heart gave a fearful little stutter when he saw that _Maria Hill_ had taken some time to look unnerved.

“So this is serious, huh?”

Clint snorted, his unease betrayed in tiny ways despite casually leaning back in his chair. “Bit of an understatement, Captain. Whoever this hacker is – when SHIELD tracks them down they’ll either be chopped into small pieces and burned for good measure… _or_ they’ll be recruited and brought over to our side. No one’s ever done this before.”

Coulson rose from his seat. “Well you heard Fury, everyone, we need to leave the premises for the day. And it’s barely ten a.m., let’s take this as a good thing.”

Clint got up with an exaggerated groan. “Yeah, doubt SHIELD will implode without my archery assisting the code repair.”

Steve followed the three out the door, weaving in and out of panicked intel operatives and folding themselves into the elevator. Coulson and Hill got off on different floors, and suddenly Clint was facing him with a skeptical brow.

“So. Who’s got you so happy today?”

“What?”

“You were audibly sighing during the entire meeting.”

“I was not.”

“ _Audibly_.”

Steve tried not to smile at the reminder. He had less than two hours now.

Clint pointed like a bratty little kid. “See! You just did it again. What, you got a date or something?”

Steve said nothing.

“Oh, so you do. When?”

“Noon today.”

“What’s she like?”

Steve looked at him sideways. “ _He’s_ an MIT graduate I met at a coffee shop a few nights ago.”

Underneath his sarcasm and generally laid-back attitude, Clint Barton had an exceptionally high level of training, probably the highest aside from Romanov. So Steve knew how much Clint’s expression of surprise was intentional – for Steve more so than for himself.

“Huh, didn’t know that about you. What’s he look like?”

“He’s –“ Steve looked past Clint, biting back a smile. “He’s got black hair and brown eyes.”

Clint smirked. “You’ve got something on your face Rogers, it looks…” He made a show of squinting at him. “Looks like emotion, get that shit off before Fury sees.”

Steve smiled as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, the garage welcoming them on the other side. The both walked out and Clint punched his shoulder.

“But really, it’s gonna go great I’m sure, stop worrying.”

Steve mock glared at him, and saw Clint’s sly grin.

“I never said I was nervous.”

Clint tapped his head. “Spy, remember? Get with it, Steve.” He started walking away, presumably in the direction of his car.

Steve chuckled. “See you tomorrow, Barton.”

Clint didn’t look back. “Wanna hear the full report tomorrow, Rogers!”

A smile slipped onto his face as he turned and walked to his car. He pulled his phone out, and typed in the number Tony had given him right before they’d parted ways the other night.

 _Hi Tony, work got out early so I was wondering, would you like to meet up before noon?_ _Steve._

His phone buzzed with a response in seconds, and his stomach did a happy flip.

_Eager are we? Sure thing muscles, let me finish up here then I’ll come get you_

Steve’s grin was so wide it was probably medically unhealthy for his face. _Where is here?_

Again, the response was almost instant. _If I told you, I’d have to kill you._

Steve shook his head. He opened his driver’s side door and climbed in.

***

Bucky had almost broken down Steve’s front door when he finally showed up, ice cream and liquor at the ready as promised. He’d pinned Steve with this _look,_ this – god, it was like Bucky knew everything but he didn’t, he _really_ didn’t understand this one. And Steve told him that, a little bit petulantly, five shots and two bowls of mint choco chip later.

“You don’t – Bucky I know you think you get it, man, but. You don’t, so.”

“Okay, Stevie.”

“No, I’m serious though. This whole thing, it’s just…so _messed_ _up_.”

Bucky leaned back further into Steve’s old coach, the leather groaning and the TV blaring some rerun neither were really watching. He held out the Jack, liquid inside splashing against the glass, and Steve took it.

“Whadaya mean? You haven’t told me much about what’s goin’ on here.”

Steve shook his head, leaning forward to poor a shot into the glass on the coffee table. “I can’t really, it’s – it’s classified.”

He _felt_ rather than _saw_ Bucky hold back an eye-roll. They’d grown up together, him and Buck, and they’d enlisted together. But the years went on, and Steve fell deeper and deeper in with the military-types while Bucky got a taste and got the hell out when he could. He’d never fully approved of Steve’s decision to work for SHIELD, even after having all these years to get used to the idea.

“Alright, well what _can_ you tell me? You were in deep for this guy, and I actually liked him. What happened?”

Steve sighed, tossing back another shot. His world felt loose and light and he was still miserable. He sort of wanted to cry. His voice came out scratchy, and he told himself it was because of the whiskey.

“I was…keeping secrets from him, ya know, about what it is that I do.”

Bucky shifted a bit. “So – what, he found out about your job at SHIELD, and bailed? I mean that’s…understandable on his part, Steve, you can’t hold that against him.”

Steve shook his head. “No no, I wish that was it…like I said it’s classified, but that’s at least a big part of it. I fucked up, Buck, I didn’t do right by him.” His vision blurred, and he sniffed a little.

Groaning leather let him know Bucky had leaned forward, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Nah man, come on. Is there…anything you can do, to repay him or somethin’?”

Steve shook his head, closing his eyes. “No. He’s never coming back.” His voice cracked and he bowed his head low.

And it was true, wasn’t it? It was like a hole opened up somewhere deep inside him – it felt like Tony was dead. He was never going to see him again – he would never get to talk to him, or make him laugh, or listen to him rant about the molecular intricacies of robotics engineering at 4AM when he couldn’t sleep. And it hurt all the more because Steve couldn’t talk about what he’d lost when Tony had walked out that door. “We broke up” didn’t cut it. Tony was gone, and he would never see him or hear about him ever again.

He let out a sigh that threatened to turn itself into a sob, and his hand tightened dangerously around the shot glass. He heard Bucky stand.

“Alright, gimme that –“ Bucky snatched the glass away, refilling it and shoving it back into Steve’s hand, along with his half-finished bowl of ice cream. “Enough of this brooding bullshit, you don’t need that right now. Drink your alcohol and eat your dessert.”

Steve looked at him blearily, his sharp brown eyes and overgrown hair. “You’re always babysittin’ me.”

Bucky nodded without missing a beat. “Damn straight, Stevie. Who else’s gonna do it?”

Steve looked down, considering the question a little too seriously. “Well no one, I guess.”

Buck nodded in what Steve supposed was a rather self-satisfied manner. “You may not be the twerp you were when we were kids, but you still need someone watching your back. You’ve nursed me back to emotional health after messy breakups, so now I’m doin’ the same for you.”

Steve nodded, content with that response, and felt his eyes drifting shut against his will. He suspected almost-crying took a lot out of somebody, and the whiskey wasn’t exactly hyping him up either. He was feeling better though – in an artificial, self-medicated sort of way if he had to guess, but at least for right now he didn’t feel like his heart was getting ripped out his chest.

He roused a little (when had he drifted off?) when Bucky spoke, his voice strangely hesitant. “Hey Steve – I know you said it’s classified, but I – I really liked Tony, man, and I sorta gotta know…did you – I dunno. Were you like. Assigned to, arrest him or, or kill him or something? Was he a target of yours?”

Steve was three-quarters asleep at this point, but the SHIELD golden rule ( _thou shalt not ask about each other’s missions_ ) stayed hard and true, a blaring neon sign in his otherwise cloudy, heartbroken and intoxicated brain. He sighed, eyes closing.

“Classified.”

And he fell asleep.

***

_I’m here_

Steve’s heart leapt up to his throat. He took a deep breath and wasted no time getting the hell out of his apartment, grabbing his wallet and a jacket on the way out the door. He climbed down the steps and found himself in front of a nondescript black Toyota, engine rumbling. He bent down to peer into the passenger side window, sure Tony was the driver but bracing himself in case he had the wrong car and was creeping out a random stranger.

But no. Inside, there was Tony, staring back at him with a growing smile. It was reassuring somehow, as if deep down Steve had worried that Tony was something his subconscious had made up. No part of him could ever fabricate that look Tony had in his eyes right now, visible even through the dark tint of the glass.

He pulled the door open and folded himself in, turned to the driver and smiling.

“Hey.” Tony was looking back at him with a smirk.

“Hey yourself.” His voice did things to Steve’s composure. Tony had on a tight Black Sabbath T-shirt and jeans, and it probably would’ve looked sloppy on anyone else. But the man oozed charisma and some sort of easy class that pulled it off and dressed it up somehow. Tony leaned back in the driver’s seat, wrist draped over the wheel, and he was looking Steve up and down in obvious appreciation.

“Wow. So, you look nice.” Steve laughed at his tone.

“You do as well, Tony.” Tony shrugged.

“I thought we were gonna do something simple like hotdogs in the park, but I don’t think it makes much sense for you to eat anything but fine dining, looking the way you do. It’s just a waste of proper aesthetics when you think about it, your face-body combination would far surpass the décor they’ve got going on at most of those joints. I wanna put flowers in your hair or something.”

Steve laughed. “Flowers in my hair?”

Tony’s lips twitched up in a brief smile. “Okay so maybe I didn’t think that one through. I tried to think of something I could do to you in public that would convey my appreciation for your good looks without getting me arrested.”

He smiled and did _not_ let his imagination run wild at that comment. “So where would you like to eat lunch, then, if street vendors and five-star restaurants are off the list? Because yes, five-star restaurants are off the list.”

Tony pouted. “Fine. Well, you tell me. I’m not from here.”

Steve cocked his head. “Where are you from?”

Tony shrugged in a way that hinted half-honesty at best. “California.”

“Well in that case I’ll run the show today – there’s a great Italian place on 56th and 9th that I think you’ll like, and it’s close to the park.”

“Italian for lunch?”

“Yes indeed.”

“Alright, I dig it. We’re doing this. Atlantic?”

“That’d be the quickest route, I think.”

Tony pulled into the main road and settled in to the New York traffic like he’d spent every day of his life in this city. He weaved expertly through traffic, smoothly avoiding the worst of it and riding the waves of momentary fast lanes before they disappeared while eighties rock played softly through the speakers. Tony’s hands were smaller than Steve’s, but solid, like they worked with tools a lot. He tore his eyes away from them and looked out the front windshield instead.

“So if you were from California, what brought you to this neck of the woods?”

Tony glanced at him with a smirk, and then he focused on the road again. “Fresh start, really. I wanted a clean slate. California’s a shitty place.”

Steve laughed. “Not from what I’ve heard.”

Tony changed lanes and grumbled, “yeah, well it’s not for everyone. Pretty beaches, pretty people, sure, but then you’ve got the superficiality to watch out for. Not to mention the _sunburns_ , god. What about you, always lived here?”

He nodded. “Born and raised.”

Tony smiled in a way that seemed half-mocking, but also warm somehow. “I see. This is home then?”

“This – yeah.” Steve smiled at him. “This is home.”

“Favorite memory?”

Tony sounded playful and off-hand about it, but something in his voice said this was important. He wracked his brain for a particularly good one. “When I was fifteen. I was a really scrawny kid back then –“

“– yeah?” Tony’s eyebrows were raised like he never would’ve guessed. Steve chuckled.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t start looking like this until after I joined the service, they put me on diets and beefed me up and all that – but when I was fifteen, I was pretty small. And my best friend growing up, Bucky, he was bigger than me and he always loved getting into trouble. I never argued with him much about all the pranks, seeing as he saved my skinny ass in street fights more times’n I can count.”

Tony laughed, and Steve repressed a delighted shiver.

“So one day, he had this brilliant idea, right? He comes up and says ‘Steve, man, I think we gotta egg Mr. Bennett’s house.’ Mr. Bennett was that sorta stereotypical grouchy neighbor you always see in the movies? He was such a bitter old fuck.”

This got another laugh as Tony switched lanes.

“Anyway so we grab our carton, do the shit stupid kids do, covered his whole house in eggs – I mean looking back on it now I feel kinda bad, but anyway – all of a sudden this huge dog wiggles through this hole under his backyard fence. Like, the crabby neighbor has an _actual_ junkyard-style dog, and it was _pissed_ like you wouldn’t believe. Bucky and I ran off in different directions, but when Buck realized the dog had zeroed in on me he must’ve doubled back. He found me – dunno how, I was _way_ down the black at this point – and I was basically backed into a corner, but he distracted the dog and we both managed to move around it. Then we _flew,_ I don’t think I’ve run that fast since. We didn’t stop running until we hit my doorstep. We both stayed at my place that night, and every time it got too quiet we’d hear that fucking dog in our heads.” He laughed a little. “I don’t really know why that’s my favorite memory, but it is. Maybe ‘cause it shows Buck and I had that whole ‘live together, die together’ mentality long before we enlisted.”

Tony’s voice came out a little softer than before. “He was in the army with you?”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, got out around the same time as me too. God, that’s a whole other batch of stories to tell, not all of them pretty of course. But he’s – kind of always been around, you know?”

Tony hummed in a neutral sort of way, but he sounded interested. “How did the two of you become friends if he was the big tough guy and you were – I can only guess – the scrawny artistic type?” The amusement in his voice wasn’t lost on Steve.

He smiled. “Because scrawny artistic me never backed down from fights, even if it meant I got my ass handed to me. I’m still not sure why, but that seemed to pique his interest. I was like a big guy in a little body.”

Tony laughed at that, his smile big and warm. “So now the only difference is that your personality and your body match.”

“I win _all_ my fights now.”

“Remind me to never get on your bad side. You’re body’s like a Greek god’s, it’d be cool if I just got the sexy parts of that and not the vengeful parts.”

Steve laughed. “Your chances are looking good so far.”

Tony released a melodramatic sigh of relief, clutching at his chest. “Oh thank god for that. At least I can die happy.”

The drive continued, and Steve found himself telling Tony about the military, his brief stint in college, random stories with Bucky – telling this man everything about himself seemed effortless for some reason. And every time he got Tony to smile, or to laugh, his insides heated up just a little more until he felt like he was full of helium. His brown eyes stayed pinned to the unpredictable New York streets for the most part, but Tony’s side profile wasn’t something he’d had the chance to appreciate that first night with him. His skin was a lovely light tan, and it made his dark hair and lashes stand out and _wow,_ this man was beautiful.

Before he knew it they were pulling into the parking lot and climbing out. Steve walked around the car to Tony, who got up in his personal space and smiled up at him. Something warm pulled at Steve’s stomach when he realized that Tony was considerably shorter than him, a good five inches at least. Tony was looking up through his lashes. Steve made a note to memorize this expression and commit it to paper later. Colored pencils, maybe? Charcoal?

Steve had always preferred not to kiss people until the end of the first date. It was polite, not to mention it was prudent to get to know someone a little before involving yourself _that way,_ even in such an innocent sense as kissing. Over the years it became less of a personal preference and more of a rule. And Steve was _very_ good at following rules. But Tony, he oozed rebellion and doing things his way. And Steve wasn’t sure if he could hold out with Tony looking up at him like that.

Suddenly Tony’s smile widened. “What you starin’ at, muscles? I look good enough to eat, clearly, but the way you talked up this Italian joint –“ He waved generally in the building’s direction without breaking eye contact. _Oh to hell with it,_ Steve thought.

“I mean this is world-class Yankee dining, and I don’t know what to get here so you’re gonna have to lead me along like a little kid – _mmph –“_

Steve yanked him forward and up and then Tony’s lips were on his, warm and chapped and it was electric. Tony responded with great enthusiasm, grabbing onto the front of Steve’s collared shirt and pulling him down with a little growl. Steve’s hands went to the back of Tony’s neck and around his waist as he slipped a tongue over Tony’s lips, hungry for more contact.

It was leagues away from the soft, quiet, gentle first kiss his rules demanded. Steve mentally scrapped the whole goddamn thing.

Tony pulled back sooner than Steve would’ve liked, but the heat Tony pinned him with as he looked up was almost worth it.

“You’re. Good at that.”

Steve smiled at him a little breathlessly. It was only the first date and he already wanted Tony to look at him like that every day for the rest of his life. What was it about this man that drove Steve so crazy?

“What d’you say we go eat? Their linguini is to die for.”

Tony leaned into him for one tiny, scorching moment before grinning wickedly and turning toward the front door.

“Hey, you’re the one taking your sweet time. Not that _I_ mind, but c’mon, we should be punctual here. Keep up, Rogers.”

He walked into the restaurant, leaving Steve to catch up. He shook his head with a dazed grin and followed.

He got the feeling it wouldn’t be long before he was willing to follow Tony everywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in coming out with this, new shifts at work and computers EATING MY CHAPTER presented some setbacks. Anyway, the nightclub presented here is based off an actual club in Paris, France whose name escapes me but obviously the concept stuck. I do not own anything except my words.

The drunken night in with Bucky had proven effective enough that Steve was more than willing to go for Round Two on his next day off work. In the meantime, yes, there was the manhunt to deal with along with a quick assassination he’d covered for Coulson while he was out of town for his nephew’s graduation. Weird lives they led, where two such things could be combined on a Thursday.

But by Saturday, he’d informed Bucky that they ought to go bar-hopping and Bucky had heartily agreed. Steve swirled his beer around the smudged glass while he listened to Bucky’s constant flirtations with some tall blonde or curvy brunette. It had been a week since Tony left. On Monday and Tuesday, Steve had reached a hand out to the other side of the bed before remembering that he’d never wake up next to Tony again. On Wednesday he’d considered staying home from work.

He didn’t really want to be here, with Bucky and all these strangers; it was empty and not what he was looking for. But the thought of spending another night alone in his apartment was almost enough to spring tears in his eyes.

He just wanted Tony to come back.

He lifted his head as a pissed-looking blonde lady climbed up on the stool next to him and ordered a martini. She glanced over at him and did a double take, manicured brows raised.

“Bad night?” She had a pretty voice. Steve looked down into his beer.

“Bad _week.”_

“What happened?”

“Breakup.”

She hissed through her teeth.

“Rough.”

He nodded, listening to Bucky’s never-ending refrain. The woman’d probably be set to go home with Buck in another two minutes, from how confident he sounded. He turned to the blonde lady.

“How are you, miss?”

She shrugged. “Just got dumped. Wasn’t too serious, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy getting dumped.”

He squinted at her then. “Wait – are – Sharon?”

She blinked, and then a sort of horrified recognition lit up her face. _“Steve?”_

“Yeah, pediatrics, right?”

“Yeah, I remember you. Hey listen, I’m really sorry about skipping out on coffee way back when, something came up, and –“

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It actually worked – worked out. At least – for a while. Met someone at that coffee shop.”

Her brows furrowed. “The breakup?”

He nodded. “The person I was seeing, actually worked at that café, so…”

She giggled. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, that’s just. _Agh._ Well you’re welcome then. For as long as it lasted, anyway.”

Steve scowled and emptied the rest of his glass. This conversation was depressing. “Yeah, guess so.”

She nudged his shoulder. “Hey. The bar is where we drink our sorrows away. No sense in wasting time, right? _Shots!”_

Much tequila later, Bucky had come back to the bar after leaving with a girl, and Steve was ranting to Sharon, who nodded enthusiastically to every word.

“You know when you lose something so – so goddamned _perfect_ for you, _exactly_ what you need –“

“Yeah, I know what you mean, man!”

“– and something just so beautiful and – and _god,_ I felt like he actually needed me, you know? He’s been through so much stuff that he didn’t deserve, and then he left right when I was starting to help him –“

“– wait, _he?”_

“– so even though we both made mistakes, and he’s the one who walked away I feel so guilty for it ending, like the part I played in all this might have – ruined him for good or something, you know?”

Sharon swayed in her chair. “Yeah. Was he like – a druggie?”

He shook his head. “No, he didn’t do drugs, he didn’t do anything bad, he had bad things done to him.”

She frowned into the next undignified burp. “That’s terrible, man.”

He nodded. “It is, it really is.”

“I’ll drink to that!”

And they did. Again, and again, and again. Enunciation got progressively more butchered, he and Sharon talked and griped and bitched about boys, and he was pretty sure they performed a soulful duet cover of Taylor Swift’s Shake It off at one point. He and Sharon roared some victory chant as they slammed three back-to-back shots of tequila, and that was the last thing he remembered.

***

Steve was a large guy – but the black-clad bouncer in front of him was a second Goliath. His stony face opened up into a wide a grin when they walked up and he caught sight of the shorter man at Steve’s side.

“Hey, Tony!” The affectionate tone sounded strange in his gravelly, accented voice.

“How you doing, Big P? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Just another night, and yourself? What brings you around here?”

Tony smiled and gestured beside him. “Steve here has never been on the inside of Degree Zero. Figured tonight’s the night we should change that, yeah?”

The bouncer smiled and nodded at Steve. “Your wish is my command, buddy.”

Tony shot him a thousand-watt smile that made Steve’s stomach jump a bit and then he was leading Steve by the arm past the bouncer and into the building. Tony had insisted they go to a club tonight for some reason, and had hung up on him after ordering him to dress in black. Steve had been to nightclubs before and had had a nice enough time, but Tony’s excitement seemed a little out of proportion.

“Come into this room so we can get our coats!”

_“What?_ Tony –“

“Nah, this way Steve –“

“Tony, we didn’t pay to be in here –“

“That’s fine, Piotr lets me in for free whenever he’s working the doors. In here!”

The two of them crossed the threshold into a cool tiled room illuminated by steady black lights. The bass of loud music thumped gently from somewhere else in the building. The walls held racks of fluffy white fur coats, dozens of them, and jars of what looked like body paint.

Steve stared.

“Uh…Tony? What’s _happening_ here?”

Tony grabbed a furry coat, smiling as he slipped it around himself. “Degree Zero is owned by this Russian family and they all live to be kinda weird – they keep the club below freezing so that you can dance and drink as much as you want and not, you know, pass out or overheat. They give you coats because duh, hypothermia, but they’ve also got neon paint and stuff because the whole ballroom has nothing but black lights in it.”

Steve shook his head. “Where the fuck have you taken me…”

Tony laughed, ripping a huge coat off its hanger and holding it out to Steve. “Steve, live a little, I promise you it’ll be loads of fun.”

Steve bit back a sigh and took the offered coat. “You are _not_ putting body paint on me.”

Tony’s grin turned downright evil. “The hell I’m not. I’m gonna smother you in it, hot stuff.”

Steve shook his head again, panicking a little. “No no no, I draw the line at the furry coat.”

Tony got up in his space, container of bright green paint materializing in his hand. “Better stretch your line now muscles, it’s coming whether you want it or not!”

Steve sighed, and Tony whipped his arm out with surprising speed, smearing a quick football-style line of paint on either of his cheeks.

“Cute.”

Steve looked at him. “Then I get to do you.”

Tony laughed again. “Woah, Steve, you haven’t even bought me fine Russian drinks yet! Patience is a virtue, you know.”

Steve’s smile turned a little bit soft while he stared at Tony under the black lights. It had been a month since their first date, and despite his sultriness Tony had taken things very slow so far, keeping their relationship around PG-13. Steve didn’t push; he was an observant man, and he had noticed some things about his boyfriend over the past month.

The first thing he’d noticed about Tony was that sex made him skiddish. He seemed to enjoy the concept, and he could carry heated conversations that would make a prostitute blush, but any time he and Tony had progressed to anything beyond kissing he got anxious. As soon as Steve realized this was a quirk that probably wasn’t going away, Steve had backed off and let Tony call the shots.

“Tony you can hardly talk about patience.”

Tony scoffed, already busy smearing body paint in squiggly lines down his neck. “I. Am the most patient – eh – man in existence. Hey, use your artistic talent to make my face awesome.”

Steve laughed. “Your face is awesome already Tony.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t I know it. Paint me like one of you French girls, baby.”

Steve stepped in close, dipped his fingers in the red paint Tony handed him. He thought for a second, decided to go tribal, and made quick work of Tony’s face.

“This is…an exercise in basic geometry.”

Steve’s tongue stuck out absently as he drew a circumscribed triangle in the center of Tony’s forehead, some dots down the bridge of his nose, and sideways triangles on his cheeks. Tony looked up at him with adorably wide brown eyes.

“You making me ugly?” Steve shook his head, finishing up.

“Actually it looks pretty cool. Take a peek.”

They both turned toward the mirror, Steve looking like an All American quarterback and Tony looking like the king of some South African tribe, except for the puffy white coats. Tony’s grin smooshed the cheek triangles.

“This looks fantastic! You should quit your day job.”

Steve laughed. “And what, put glow paint on ravers? No sir.”

“I’m sure that’s a marketable skill, somehow. So when we go in there, there’ll be lots of flashing lights and it’ll be freezing, but once we grab some drinks and dance a little then you’ll warm up and feel fine.”

Now that he’d had a bit of time to wrap his head around the premise of this club (he was donning fur and body paint, c’mon), Steve could actually see the genius of it. “So they force guests, via their survival instincts, to have fun?”

“Smart, right?”

“Diabolically so.”

Tony shrugged. “They don't actually take advantage of it - they're pretty exclusive. Once people go here they come back pretty often, as you can imagine, but they’re kinda picky about their patrons.”

Tony grabbed his hand and led him down the dark hall, the music pumping louder and louder until speech was impossible and the bass vibrated in his chest. As flashing lights outlined sudden thick crowds of bodies, the air got so cold so quickly that Steve gasped, not that Tony or anyone else could hear it over the music. Suddenly his and Tony’s furry white rave coats were necessities that Steve couldn’t imagine being without. The music’s volume and the crowd’s energy were at odds with the bone-cracking cold, and Steve had a moment of confusion so powerful he almost laughed.

Tony turned around to face him, his red tribal paint glowing against his skin. He leaned up into Steve’s space, grabbing the back of Steve’s neck and yelling in his ear. “ _How do you like it?”_

Steve grinned despite himself, leaning down and kissing the side of Tony’s head. His hair was soft and wonderfully warm on his lips – Steve wanted to bury his face in it.

“ _I’m freezing, Tony!”_

Tony looked up at him, and Steve’s eyes adjusted enough to see the wide sparkly look they got when he was ready to have some fun.

“ _Drinks?”_

He nodded, and let Tony weave him through the crowd to the bar, tended by three neon-clad people. A pale blonde woman in a furry orange jumpsuit smiled at them and leaned against the counter.

“ _Priviet!_ ”

Tony smiled widely at her. “ _Ztrastvuitie! Vui znaete angliski yazik?”_

“ _Da, kanechna_! What can I get you boys?” Her accent was surprisingly minimal.

Tony turned to look at him and yelled, “They serve great vodka here!”

Steve nodded, and turned to the woman. “Two vodkas, please!”

She started preparing two glasses in record time, and set two drinks neatly in front of them. Tony picked it up, holding it out to her as if in toast.

“Thank you!”

She smiled. _“Pajalusta_!”

The woman walked down the counter to help other guests, and Steve took a drink. It was strong, and burned like fire all the way down his throat. He resisted the urge to cough, but his shivering abated a little. Fog coated the glass between his fingers.

He leaned in toward Tony. “You speak Russian?”

Tony shrugged and kept yelling. “A little! I’m pretty shit at it though!” His accent sounded good, if its similarity to Bucky’s perfected Russian was any indication.

“When did you learn?”

Tony opened his mouth, but hesitated before forcing out “college!”

Another thing Steve had learned: Tony did not talk about himself. Oh, he talked all the time; he could ramble with the best of them. But when Steve asked him questions about his life or family, he shot off some witty remark and slung some question right back at Steve – usually inappropriate, probing, or obscene – until Steve forgot what he’d asked him in the first place. It’d be hours later when Steve realized that Tony had managed, yet again, to wriggle his way out of Steve’s personal questions.

In that regard, Steve didn’t really know a whole lot about Tony. He didn’t know anything about his parents, or where he grew up. He didn’t know what he did for a living – which Steve could not be upset over for fear of being the World’s #1 Hypocrite – and he didn’t know about a single childhood friend or role model of Tony’s. The prior twenty-eight years of Tony’s life was a void to Steve.

What he _did_ know about his boyfriend was that the corners of his eyes wrinkled when he smiled wide enough, and that he could rant to Steve about electrical currents and efficient energy resources for hours if he let him. He knew that when the conversation turned personal (at least on Tony’s end; he loved hearing Steve Stories as he’d called them), something in Tony’s eyes hardened and dimmed like cooling metal. Something terrible had happened to Tony – half of him almost didn’t want to know what could scar a man like him so deeply. Nonetheless, Tony was an undeniable optimist. He threw himself into Steve without looking back, trusting that tomorrow would come and that things would probably turn out alright.

So after a month of acquainting himself with the paradox that was Tony, he picked up on the tones and pauses that let him know, in this instance, that Tony decidedly did not learn Russian in college. Steve smiled anyway, and changed the subject.

“How did you even find this place? I’ve never heard of it before."

The glass in his hand was half empty, and Steve was already feeling the physical implications of that. This vodka was strong. Tony waved a hand, face paint glowing as the music pounded around them.

“I know one of the owners! We became pretty good friends, and then I got Piotr hired as a bouncer here and the rest is history!”

Tony tipped his glass back and finished off the glass, setting it back on the counter and smacking his lips. That was another thing; Tony drank a lot. Steve didn’t think he was an alcoholic, but he most certainly drank his feelings. Feelings he would _not_ talk about. Steve pursed his lips. Maybe this vodka buzz was making him a little bitter that Tony was keeping secrets.

Tony stood up all of a sudden, and held his hand out with a smirk. “Wanna dance? It’ll warm you up!”

Steve smiled and took it, dropping down from the stool and letting Tony lead him into the crowd. It was a few degrees warmer here amongst the bodies, heat emanating from all the exercise and intoxication. Tony stopped and faced him, eyes and nose giving way to the glowing red conglomeration of circles and triangles. The song playing boomed to a quick beat, and Tony quickly started bouncing in time.

At some point in the song, the remainder of the glass hit Steve’s bloodstream and things got more intense after that. Any lingering cold gave way to a soft warmth that pulsed from deep in his chest to the tips of his fingers. Tony’s back was to him as the deepened and slowed in tempo. He grabbed Tony’s hips and guided them against him, groaning at the mind-blowing feeling. Together they bounced and dipped and swayed to the drums, bright flashing lights catching on their own fogging breath but otherwise leaving them together in the darkness, crowded by strangers on every side.

Steve closed his eyes and let the Russian lyrics and bass vibrate his entire body up against Tony’s. Tony gave as good as he got, leaning back against Steve like he was the only thing holding him up. The scorching heat pumping through Steve’s body blazed hotter with every beat of the music, every sway of Tony’s hips. It was completely enchanting.

Another song passed in wonderland this way before Tony swirled around to face him again, bright smile visible every time the lights flashed. He leaned up and buried his face in Steve’s neck, pressing his lips to the chilly skin there and Steve couldn’t have suppressed a shiver if the fate of the nation depended on it.

Tony moved up, hot breath tickling his ear. “ _Another drink_?”

Steve nodded, knowing words were useless and rarely heard here; the bass would drown out anyone who spoke too long. Together they weaved through the ecstatic dancers and back to the bar, where this time they were approached by a man in a bright blue jumpsuit.

“ _Priviet_!” Steve smiled, in too good a mood to mind his language barrier.

“Do you speak English?”

The man beamed. “Yes, of course! What can I get you?”

“Two more vodkas, please!”

The bartender nodded and got his glasses ready, and Steve turned back to Tony.

“This. Is Fantastic.” Tony’s smile was so genuinely pleased it made Steve’s chest tighten.

“You like it?”

“I love it. I’m not hot, I feel like I could stay here all night.”

The drinks were set neatly in front of them both as Tony laughed. “That _is_ the goal of a club – you feel less worn out when you’re not hot, so they’re doing something right!”

Steve nodded, grabbing his glass and holding it up to Tony. “Thank you for bringing me here. This is fun.”

Tony smirked, waving him off. “It’s nothing, muscles, happy to do it.” He grinned at him. Even in the dim technicolor lighting, Tony’s eyes were intense and mesmerizing and Steve couldn’t look away.

“How do you say ‘cheers’ in Russian?”

Tony leaned forward with a little laugh. “ _Za ztarovie_!”

“Za starov-vie?”

Tony lifted his glass looking delighted. “Close enough big guy. _Za ztarovie_!”

Steve drank a good third of his glass, emerging to see Tony polishing off his glass in one go. Tony was a heavyweight, or at least functioned so well while under the influence that usually, Steve couldn’t tell when Tony was drinking and when he wasn’t. Steve got sloppy when he drank – on nights where they went out, therefore, Tony was usually left in charge of navigating the cab rides home.

A couple hours passed like this, with Tony and Steve pulling each other greedily from the bar to the dance floor and back, and the night only got more thrilling the longer they stayed there – though that could have been the alcohol talking. Tony was the one to finally pull them toward the exit, claiming that they were both probably much more shriveled from dehydration than they felt.

Once they were in the hall, ears ringing and vision spotting from the sudden lack of overstimulation, Tony pulled out his phone and called them a cab without pausing in his walk. They wiggled out of their coats, Steve stumbling a little as he wrestled his off, and then they were out the door and into the fresh autumn air. Tony was babbling about something Steve couldn’t quite grasp, and he realized in that instant that he’d gone further past the tipsy landmark than he’s originally anticipated he would.

“Did you have a good time?”

He turned to Tony with a wide smile. “Yes, very good. I really enjoyed that. Thank you, Tony.”

Tony shrugged it off quickly. “No big deal, just glad you got a kick out of it.”

“I did. But really, you didn’t have to do that and you did. So thanks.”

Tony got visibly more uncomfortable, and waved it off as no big deal.

That was another thing he’d gathered about Tony: his generosity was shockingly wide-sweeping, often prompting him to send Steve stupidly extravagant gifts and plan large-scale dates for the two of them. Tony was not particularly rich, as far as he’d told Steve – but he gave like someone with too big a wallet and too big a heart. It made even the ridiculous gifts (like the actual to-the-ceiling roomful of beanie babies he’d smuggled into Steve’s living room one time) more endearing than they had any right to be. And as far as he’d observed, Tony expected his recipients to respond to the gifts with as much casual acceptance as he’d had in giving them. Tony seemed to feel out of place and off-balance when Steve showed more gratitude than that.

They sat on the curb while they talked and waited for their cab. Tony’s head found Steve’s shoulder, and Steve rested his own head on top of Tony’s without thinking about it. They kept talking about the night, the body paint and its alternative uses, which devolved into a heated discussion of strange fetishes they’d heard about but did not really partake in.

It seemed like seconds in Steve’s mind before the cab pulled up in front of them, and Steve and Tony scrambled into the back. Tony’s head landed on Steve’s shoulder again at some point on their ride back, and in barely a couple minutes his weight shifted against Steve’s side in that slow way that hinted at approaching sleep. Steve smiled softly, resisting the urge to reach up and run his fingers through Tony’s hair since that might wake him up. He needed the rest.

Tony hadn’t been kidding that first night when he’d informed Steve that he only slept when he dropped for a few hours – what he failed to clarify, that night, was that “drop” was not meant as some sort of idiom. Tony _dropped_ – his body finally went on strike and demanded sleep one way or another, and the another often entailed passing out standing up if it came to that. Tony falling asleep now meant he probably hadn’t slept in a good three days or so. Steve really didn’t want to wake him up.

Sooner than he imagined, they were parked in front of Steve’s building. He handed over some cash with a murmured “ _thank you_ ” before he moved Tony out of the car, doing his best to keep his motions steady and fluid so as not to wake him. He tightened one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees, lifting him up and walking smoothly to his apartment door. By some miracle he unlocked it without dropping anything (his keys or his boyfriend, and he could only imagine how unpleasant _that_ wake-up call would be) and shouldered his way down the small hallway into his bedroom.

He set Tony on the bed, pulled off his shoes, and tucked him snuggly under the covers. Tony slept on, curling up on his side. Steve smiled down at him for a minute, then turned the light off on his way out of the room. In his outdated, overly-yellow kitchen he grabbed a glass of water, gulping it down before filling it back up and grabbing some Tylenol for them both in case the morning didn’t feel as nice as tonight had.

Tony had trusted him enough to fall asleep with him.

Usually, Tony had nightmares. Ones so bad they woke him up, made him thrash around and cry out in his sleep. It was easy to see that the nightmares were why Tony chose to stay away for days at a time, and only slept when his body gave him no choice. They had fallen asleep in Steve’s bed a couple times before, and each time Tony’s own subconscious woke him up before too long. Most of Steve was desperate to know what Tony dreamed about, to help and to support because Tony needed help and support, goddammit. But a part of Steve was almost scared to know. They’d only known each other for a month – part of Steve wanted to run from those dreams, pretend like they didn’t happen the same way Tony pretended every time he woke up from one.

Steve had bitten the bullet and asked, one time – not _what was your nightmare about_ , god no, Steve wasn’t stupid. But he’d asked maybe a bolder question: _what is it that you don’t want to talk about?_ Tony had frozen, hands bunched around his black café shirt that had been thrown to the floor during his night at Steve’s, and his eyes had turned into stones.

_I mean, you don’t sleep, you drink like a fish, you don’t like to be handed things – you’ve got so many strange quirks, Tony, and I just wish I knew more about them. I don’t want to step on some verbal landmine_.

Tony had frowned, and after a bit of arguing back and forth, Tony had said, _Steve, just let it go. I have my secrets and you have yours, and that’s how everyone is. I’m not much of a sharer_.

And Steve respected that, he did, but as reentered his bedroom and saw the peaceful lump that was his boyfriend – knowing that peace would be shattered in a few hours when Tony woke up screaming – he couldn’t help but wish he knew more anyway.

He wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist, buried his face in Tony’s soft hair, and settled in for a couple hours of peace.

***

He woke up on Bucky’s couch with a nauseating dry mouth and hot insides. He considered going back to sleep, but he needed a glass of water and a toilet (to piss in or puke in, maybe both), so rolled himself up into a sitting position.

_“Ugh.”_

The headache swept the rug out from under him. Figuratively, of course.

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d wake up yet!”

He groaned again, head in his hands. “ _Stop yelling_.”

“When have I ever gone easy on you, Steve?”

He shook his head. “You’re an asshole.”

“Guilty as charged.” Steve felt the couch sink as Bucky sat down next to him. “Who was that woman you ignored me for all night?”

He took a deep breath and thought about it for a second. Last night’s memory trickled into his brain one-by-one like a high school PowerPoint. “Uh – Sharon.”

“Wait, like – ” he laughed and Steve’s head pulsed, “ – like the lady who stood you up?”

“Yeah. Weird huh?”

“What’d you two do?”

Steve shrugged. “Drank, talked about how breakups suck mainly. It was pretty nice up until I can’t…remember anything.”

Bucky laughed again. “Yeah, you threw your fuckin’ tits up, I dragged you outta there and put you to bed. I didn’t know what you’d been up to with that Sharon girl, though, so I didn’t give her your number or anything before takin’ you away. Sorry about that.”

He shook his head and instantly regretted it. “That’s alright Bucky, I’m sure I made an ass of myself in front of her anyway.” He smiled ruefully. “I pretty much ranted to her about Tony all night, so.”

“That was probably good for you. Gotta get it out of your system, you know? Talk about it until you feel better.

“Yeah.” He didn’t think he’d ever feel better. It was _Tony._

Bucky paused, and his voice had a bit of hesitancy in it. “…Isn’t it weird, though, that the night Sharon doesn’t show, you meet Tony, and by the time he’s gone you finally see her again? It’s like he was an era all to himself.”

Like time had stopped when Tony was a part of his life, Steve thought. Like it had started back up the second he walked away. Steve looked down and bit his tongue.

“Hey, Steve, I didn’t say that to – you know I didn’t mean – anything by that.”

Steve swallowed and looked up at him. Bucky had that wide brown-eyed look he always got when he put his foot in his mouth.

“No Buck, I think you’re right. It’s just hard. It’s like he was a dream I woke – woke up from.”

Bucky nodded. “I know. Just give it time.”

After a pause, Steve took a deep breath. “I didn’t drunk-dial anyone last night right?”

Bucky smiled. “Pretty sure you tried to order Italian food at one point? But that Sharon girl hung up your phone for you.”

Steve grabbed his cell up from the coffee table just to make sure. He had just that one outgoing call, and – he straightened.

“Huh.”

Buck blinked. “What.”

“Sharon, she texted me. Musta nabbed by number at some point.”

_Hey Steve, I had a great time drunk-moping about our exes last night. Let me know if you’d like to do it again sometime. Sharon._

Bucky elbowed his side. “Man, you’re _so_ in.”

“Shut up, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, guys! Thanks to everyone who's left comments and kudos so far, you lovely people make my day everyday.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating for a week guys :( won't bore you with the details but this week was not fun. At least I got to write this though! And if all goes well I should never be this late again. Enjoy!

“The hacker has corrupted our files on weaponry and that of all our contacts. We’re still working on _how_ this individual managed to bypass our firewalls, but as of now one person has seen the mechanical schematics for every caliber of firearm and explosive we have ever made, or plan to make in the distant future. If the hacker chooses to distribute this information to enemies of the UN, we could have a world crisis on our hands.”

Steve flipped through the files in his hands as Natasha spoke. They were all back in the conference room, this time with Natasha giving them the important updates on that hacker from forever ago who, apparently, had been systematically re-hacking SHIELD’s secure files every _week._ Steve shook his head.

“Something is off about this.”

Coulson gave Steve what might have been his driest expression to date. “You don’t say.”

“It’s been two months since the initial hacking – we should’ve had our world crisis already, or at least some kind of physical threat. It doesn’t make sense to sit stewing on fresh enemy information like this.”

From across the table, Clint pointed at him. “My thoughts exactly. For an official high-profile enemy of SHIELD, this guy is a piss-poor strategist. For all he knows we could be planting fake info now; we’re no longer caught off-guard and unaware. He knows we’re onto him.”

Hill frowned. “We know nothing about this individual – no name, gender, location, motivation. We only know they’re compromising SHIELD servers and seem to be fixated on our weapons program.”

Steve scowled down at the pages of mostly incomprehensible strings of code. “I’m getting the impression that if we were on this hacker’s shit list, we’d probably already be dead. This person…is trying to find something, maybe. In our files.”

Up front next to Fury, Natasha’s brows furrowed. “That's a bold statement, but like what?”

Steve leaned forward. “Well, they could be looking for a particular weapon, but they would have found it the first time. They keep checking in, keeping up to date on our weapons and our allies'…I think our target knows something about a contact of ours, this contact’s plan for some weapon. Keeps waiting to see if it’s showed up in our inventory yet.”

Fury’s patented severe look overcame his face as he crossed his arms. “Are you suggesting that not only is this hacker not a _threat_ to us, but that potentially one of our allies _is_?”

Steve shrugged. “Aside from pulling our curtains back, the target has not acted aggressively. The timing and frequency of the hacks is reminiscent of monitoring a potential threat – something SHIELD does every minute.”

Clint leaned back in his chair. “They’re on the defensive.”

Steve nodded. “It makes more sense than an upcoming World War 3.”

Natasha pursed her lips. “Running hypotheticals, especially optimistic ones, can only achieve so much. No one with enough technological prowess to _infiltrate a government organization_ does so because they want to make _friends.”_

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of his own phone’s ringtone. His eyes widened as everyone turned to look at him, and not in the good way.

“Um – one moment please.” He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, stomach dropping when he saw Tony’s contact icon.

_Steve there’s an emergency! Leave work as soon as you can and come to this address._

Attached below was a small file clearly depicting a photo screenshotted from Google Maps. Steve’s breath caught up in his throat, and he looked up to see everyone staring at him with a bit of urgency now.

“What is it, Steve?” Clint asked.

Steve stood. “I’m sorry, there’s a family emergency. I have to go right now.”

For the smallest moment it looked like Fury might tell him to sit his ass back down – and then he nodded and waved him toward the door. “Go, Rogers. I expect you here tomorrow, bright and early, on time as always.”

“Yes, sir.” He gathered up all his files and rushed out of the room.

He all but ran from the building and climbed into his car, glancing once more at the map Tony had sent him – it was off the island, but with his clever use of highways and traffic’s unusual show of mercy today, he was parked in front of a slightly run-down apartment building within a half hour. He opened the car door, considered for a moment, then pulled the pistol from his glove box and tucked it into his jeans. He had no clue what he might be walking into here, and he wasn’t about to risk Tony’s safety by entering unarmed.

He climbed the steps to the front door, followed Tony’s directions to the correct suite, and knocked.

Tony answered the door, a beautiful grin splitting his face. “Steve, you came! And how the hell did you get here so fast, you use your jetpack?”

Steve looked past Tony’s shoulder, relieved to see that Tony seemed okay. “I left work the moment I got your text, what’s wrong?”

Tony’s grin widened impossibly. “Ah, your question should be what’s _right!_ My best friend Bruce came back from India this morning and I want you to meet him!”

The world stopped short from its manic, adrenalin-injected spin. Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Tony. You said this was an emergency.”

Tony had the sense to look the tiniest bit shameful. “Well, Bruce did sort of _emerge._ Bruce _is_ the emergency.”

Steve stared at him, shaking his head while he very subtly worked on getting his breath back. He had been so worried – but it was moments like this that Steve remembered just how different his life was from everyone else’s. When someone told him _emergency,_ his mind jumped to dismembered bodies or double murders, not _my friend’s back in town._ A strangled laugh fell out Steve’s mouth.

Tony cocked his head, brows furrowed. “You okay, Steve?”

He sighed, then managed a grin. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad you’re okay Tony.”

Tony’s intelligent eyes softened a little, and the corners of his mouth quirked up gently. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Steve’s smile was a little more genuine this time. “Next time, just tell me what the event is and I’ll see what I can do about work.”

Tony beamed. “Deal! Well you’re here anyway, wanna come in and meet Bruce?”

“Sure.” He stepped in after Tony, and the shorter man led him down the hall, which soon opened up into a shabby looking kitchen. The whole place smelled of fresh curry.

“Looks like he went back to his bedroom, stay here and I’ll go get him.” Tony disappeared into another small hall. The whole place looked like it hadn’t been lived in in months. Soon Steve heard two male voices talking over each other, and then Tony was leading a man in front of him.

Bruce was short, about Tony’s height, with curly black hair and eyes so dark they were almost black. His hunched posture made him look like he was bracing for some blow, but there was something curious in his expression that made Steve pretty sure that he and Tony had first bonded intellectually. Tony bounced up beside Bruce and held his hands out in a beholding kind of gesture.

“Steve, this is my best friend Bruce. Bruce, this is Steve, light of my life and fire of my loins.”

Bruce looked equal parts exasperated and amused as he held his hand out. “Nice to finally meet you, Steve.” Bruce’s voice was deep and slow, almost luxurious. With a single sentence, Steve could tell it took a lot to break this guy’s calm.

“Pleasure’s all mine. I didn’t know Tony really…” He made a vague hand gesture, and Bruce laughed.

“Had friends? Don’t worry, he gets that all the time.” Tony made an affronted sound and stepped back from the two of them.

“Even the people who _like_ me don’t like me!”

“Fact.” Steve smiled so Tony knew it was a joke, but he received the middle finger anyway.

“Why do I even hang out with you guys…”

“Better question,” Bruce said as he turned to Tony. “Why did I not learn about Steve until _yesterday?_ ”

Tony leveled an unimpressed look at him. “Why did you leave me and run off to India for like ten years?”

Bruce smiled and rolled his eyes. “I see your point. Still, I had no clue Steve existed until you told me about him over email.”

Steve laughed. “You got a head start then – I didn’t know _you_ existed until about five minutes ago, and he doesn’t even have some foreign country as an excuse there.”

Bruce met his eyes and shook his head forlornly. “This is what we get for gallivanting around with a sarcastic, scientific asshole whose secrets happen to have secrets.”

“Okay, that is quite enough Tony bashing! We haven’t even gotten to the roast yet guys, you’re doing this all out of order.” Tony was looking only a little bit uncomfortable, and not with the jabs. Steve felt a sudden warmth for him in that moment, tinged with a little sadness.

“I’m glad you brought me over to meet Bruce, Tony.” He reached a hand out and smiled, unsure of what Bruce was comfortable seeing and not wanting to put him off in his own house.

It seemed Tony had other plans. His lips flicked up into a mischievous grin before he lunged forward, pulling Steve down into a kiss. His whole body relaxed into Tony’s and Bruce stayed silent – Steve didn’t know yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But when they pulled away, Bruce had the same serene expression with a tiny smile that spoke of seeing a friend happy. Tony turned to look at him, ignoring the almost fatherly look in his friend’s eyes.

“Whatcha staring at Brucie? You can’t join, you’re not invited.”

Bruce laughed, and looked at Steve without answering. “Would you like to stay for some early dinner, Steve? I’ve got some curry cooking right now if you’d like.”

Steve smiled at him. “That would be lovely. Thank you, Bruce.”

Tony sighed dramatically. “D’you have Benedryl, Bruce? Your collective politeness is giving me hives.”

***

The next time it happened, they didn’t get drunk together.

Sharon called Steve up and asked when he was free to grab a bite to eat. Steve could have said he was busy this week and the next, kept postponing until she got the message and fucked off, but he’d actually enjoyed their time together despite being heartbroken and depressed. He told her he was free for lunch on Tuesday. And that he hated Italian food.

So they met at a small bistro on their lunch breaks and ate sandwiches while they got to know each other without the influence of alcohol. Turned out Sharon had a great sense of humor, and they spent an hour laughing almost non-stop. Steve could easily see what had pulled him to her all that time ago. Steve was also surprised to learn that she wasn’t naturally a blonde.

“You’re not?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“What’s your natural color?”

“Brown. Dyed it like this in my early twenties back when blonde was the only way to be sexy.” She laughed a little. “Even after I got over the novelty of it, I liked it more than my brown hair. It feels more me.”

Steve smiled. “I agree. Keep it blonde.”

When they were done eating and talking, Steve paid for them both because he was a little unsure if this was a date or just a lunch between friends. She cleared that up though, when she leaned up and kissed him before climbing into her cab.

***

After curry, Tony was visibly itching for a cigarette – a habit Steve could not, for the life of him, convince Tony to give up – and grumbled loudly when he realized he was out. He left to the nearest corner store with a wave over his shoulder and a jingle of his keys, leaving Bruce to calmly invite Steve to the balcony. He made Steve and himself cups of potent-smelling tea and led him to the sliding glass door.

Steve hadn’t noticed until he was outside, but Bruce’s place had fairly depressing lighting. It made the smoggy NYC twilight look like a Disneyland postcard. He sat himself down on one of the green lawn chairs overlooking the city, and saw Bruce doing the same.

“I hope this doesn’t come out wrong…but does the coloring of your apartment ever get you down?”

Despite the fact that his question _did_ come out _completely_ wrong, Bruce chuckled serenely. “I suppose so, but I don’t really have a depressive personality. I have a temper, I get stressed out very easily, so if anything the drabness calms me down.”

Steve took a sip of the hot tea in his hand and tried not to make a face at the bitterness. “ _You_ have a temper? I can’t really imagine that.”

Bruce smiled. “Yeah, I keep a pretty tight lid on it. You’d think having a best friend like Tony Edwards would’ve shoved me off the deep end long ago, but…something about our friendship just works.”

Steve blinked. “His last name is Edwards?”

Bruce quirked an eyebrow, and his voice was slow and dry. “You’ve been with him for two months and you never asked for his last name?”

He looked off into the streets. “I guess it never came up. Something as basic as a last name, and it never came up.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if this is oversharing, I mean I just met you, but – sometimes I feel like I don’t know Tony at all. Like he hides everything about himself from me. It’s like lo– dating a ghost.”

Bruce’s lips curled gently at Steve’s slip up, but then he sighed. “I wish that I could give you better news, Steve, but that’s just how Tony is. With everyone. We’ve been friends for years and he’s opened up to me a handful of times – usually in crises, he’s open when it’s necessary. But if our minds are an ocean, Tony floats on the surface. He stays in the present. He has more under there, but I don’t think he wants to go there unless he absolutely has to.”

“What – is considered necessary? It might be selfish, but…I don’t know how a full, mutual relationship is possible without even a minimum level of honesty.”

Bruce looked torn for a moment, then set his drink down on the coffee table and turned toward Steve in his chair, looking him dead in the eye. “When I was a kid, my father beat me and my mother. He ended up beating her to death one day. I’ve got a lot of anger because of it.”

Steve felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. “I’m so sorry.”

Bruce shook his head gently. “Thank you, but I’m not telling you this for sympathy. When I told Tony, he looked startled, but calmer than you do now. He seemed to empathize. He gave me advice with how to deal with it, how to let go of what anger I could and embrace what I couldn’t. It spoke of a lot of experience.”

Steve went cold. “You – you think he was abused?”

Bruce gave a tiny shrug. “It’s not my place to say, or to speculate. But a situation where Tony would find it _necessary_ to tell you or me, would probably involve those experiences he hides from so well, coming back to bite him in the ass. My version, for example, would be if my father escaped from prison and came after me.”

Steve scrubbed a slow hand down his face, letting out a puff of air. “So you’re telling me I might never find out.”

Bruce sighed. “If I’m being honest, you never knowing means Tony has no reason for you to know, which means his bad memories are staying in the past. As a concerned best friend, I couldn’t ask for anything better. But yes. You might never find out.”

Steve leaned back in his chair. He listened to the taxis blaring their horns as the sun ducked under the skyline. Bruce’s tea filled his nose, and things felt comforting and bleak at the same time. “What if I can’t do this? What if his – surface isn’t enough?”

He thought of all that _never knowing_ entailed – because this wasn’t just some flighty curiosity on Steve’s part. Tony’s memories affected everything about their relationship, everything from talking to sex. Steve wasn’t particularly needy in that department; they’d done everything he could imagine short of sex, and that was fine by him. Tony was absolutely sinful in everything he did under the sheets, and he left Steve seeing stars every time. But the idea of Tony having some deep-seated, ever-present hangup about sex _terrified_ Steve – it made him scared to even kiss him, for fear of hurting Tony somehow.

To have something as wonderful as sex be flipped on its head, made into something painful and horrifying, gave Steve pause to say the least.

Bruce took a second to answer. “You mean the world to him. And he to you, I can tell. You have to ask yourself if you need to know Tony inside and out, or if you have all you need to love him anyway.”

Steve frowned as he thought about that. Never before had he looked at his and Tony’s relationship and thought _, this might be a dead end._ He was always too caught up in the way Tony smiled at him, that knowing look in his eyes, the way they moved around and past and into each other with just a glance. Time with Tony always glowed, with a forever sort of feeling that left no room for expiration dates.

“And I should also add, that if you break Tony’s heart by stringing him along when you’re not prepared for all he entails, I will find you. And you’ll learn just how angry I can get.”

Steve looked up to find Bruce burning a hole in his face, all traces of that serene calm replaced with a fire that had Steve, top agent of SHIELD and assassin extraordinaire, gulping. His black eyes promised disembowelment.

“I promise, I’ll figure this out before it’s too late.”

Bruce shifted, and suddenly the Zen King persona was back in place – just as the glass door behind them slid open, and Tony popped his head out, cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“What’re ya doin’ out here, ladies?”

Bruce turned and gave Tony a gentle smile. “Just giving Steve the shovel talk.”

Tony rolled his eyes, sliding the door shut and pulling up a chair. He plopped himself down across from them both, back to the skyline so his smirking face was cast in shadow, and kicked his feet up until they were rested on Steve’s lap. “Oh Brucie, when’re you gonna learn that you’re just not intimidating.”

“Not to _you,_ for some reason I can’t fathom.”

Tony smiled as he took a drag. “The _reason_ is that you’re a teddy bear.”

Bruce was decidedly _not_ a teddy bear, Steve knew. But as Tony pulled long and slow from his cigarette, Bruce shot him a fond smile that told Steve that he’d probably indulge this man to the ends of the earth and never lose patience. If Steve were the jealous type, his hackles might have raised.

But he was not the jealous type. So they all talked and laughed like two of them hadn’t been discussing the possibility of ending a beautiful relationship. The sun went down, the city lights blinked on one by one, and Tony’s laughter peeled into the night air like bells. Steve wanted to stay there forever, with Tony’s feet on his lap and Bruce’s tea tasting sweeter with every sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for all the kudos and comments folks. Keep them coming, they're like soul food to me <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the kudos and comments and such, you're blowing me away with your feedback!
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: Gun stuff, brief gore, and sexual content. If any of that bothers you, you can message me and I'll give you a short summary of the chapter.

Fury had called him in for a mission, which was altogether inconvenient because he and Sharon had planned a date night and he'd had to cancel on her. He didn’t feel as bad as he always had with Tony when he told her he was leaving for an out-of-town conference for physical trainers (the feeble but pretty believable fake-job he’d supplied for Tony, and then later for Sharon as well). He’d be taking another trainer he worked with named Barton, and they’d be off in Missouri for three days.

So here he was, with Clint on a Switzerland rooftop hunting down Anton Veznikov and Marcel Herbert, two black market arms dealers about to strike a deal, both with ties to separate crime syndicates. Not exactly what he’d told Sharon he’d be doing, but at least he had the Barton part right.

Gravel and grime bit into his elbows as he waited with Clint at his side, both their heads just barely peaking over the building’s edge to keep an eye on the rendezvous point. They were closing in on one hour of waiting here – a common SHIELD precaution in case targets arrived early.

“So I was talking to Nat,” Clint started, his quiet voice jarring in the relative silence. “She said you’ve been kinda down – that guy you’ve been seeing, Tony, is he alright?”

Steve didn’t take his eyes from the street down below, but he did blink. What a _loaded_ _question_ – one Steve avoided thinking about every single day. Steve had no idea if Tony was alright. Tony could be kicking back somewhere in the Bahamas right now. Or he could have just been stabbed to death by a hoard of ruthless lackies somewhere in Canada. He had no clue, and no way of finding out, and that terrified him.

Steve sighed. “I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?”

We’re not – together anymore. Now I’m with this girl – Sharon. She’s nice.”

“Shit, put that enthusiasm away.”

Steve frowned. “Sharon’s wonderful, I didn’t mean – but yes, Tony and I are over. It’s still kind of a –“

“– tough subject?”

He let out a breath. “Pretty much.”

“Sorry about that.”

“S’fine.”

There was silence as they both gazed out at the street, heads rested in their folded arms, and waited for something to happen. Clint sighed.

“Junior agents should be on this shit. How’d we go from divine aliens to low-grade mafia detail?”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “Divine aliens?”

 _Thou shalt not ask about each other’s missions,_ Steve thought to himself, but Clint didn’t seem to care too much at the moment. “Yeah, you know we got some serious shit going down in New Mexico?”

Steve had heard the gist: a small town had gotten itself leveled by some off-the-wall supernatural occurrence? SHIELD handled lots of situations that ranked at least an 8.5 on his Weird Shit-O-Meter, so Steve hadn’t really looked into it, having been preoccupied and all.

“Yeah, what happened?”

Steve could hear the smirk in Clint’s voice. “A god, from another planet, showed up in some tiny town, made it obvious he wasn’t from around here, then blew it up. I came in as soon as I could, got to meet the guy’s brother who showed up later – he noticed me perched, dunno how, and offered me some kind of supernatural deal. I’m pretty sure _he’s_ where legends about Faustian contracts come from.”

Steve’s eyes widened, and he took a second to let _that_ soak in. “Think they’ve visited Earth before?”

Clint shrugged. “They seemed familiar enough with this place to bet safely on _yes._ ”

Steve sighed, his gut churning from a combination of overwhelming, apocalyptic dread and that exasperation you get when you spill coffee on your pants. “We’re dealing with angry gods now?”

“Well, not _dealing –_ you’ll be glad to know I turned down his offer.”

Steve chuckled. “What _was_ his offer?”

There was a tiny, uncomfortable pause where Steve was sure he’d just crossed some invisible line – a sensation that reminded him so much of Tony that he ached. Then Clint just shrugged easily.

“He offered to bring my brother back to life.”

He frowned, then turned to look at him.

“Well I’m glad you didn’t take him up on that.”

Clint snickered, and their targets arrived soon after. Two successive, silenced shots thunked out, blood and grey matter sprayed the ground, and two bodies dropped to the cobblestone. Steve and Clint bounded away from the building in opposite directions, taking all traces of their presence with them. They made a good team, him and Clint.

***                                          

About a week after Steve’s conversation with Bruce it became, at least in part, a nonissue.

Not that Tony suddenly stopped closing himself off when Steve mentioned parents or California, but Steve made him dinner one night – steak and potatoes – and while Tony was very vocal about his appreciation as he shoveled food into his mouth at a nearly nauseating pace, he seemed distracted. Steve, consuming his own at a more reasonable speed, was about to ask him what was on his mind when Tony’s fork clanked down into his plate, and his boyfriend leaned forward in his chair to look Steve dead in the eyes.

“This is fantastic food. I think we should take this to the bedroom.”

Steve blinked, and Tony kept talking.

“I mean, not the _food,_ I meant – we should take our persons, to the bedroom. Maybe Tupperware the food, save it for later?”

Steve’s mouth, luckily food-free, fell open. “U-uh, sure. Yeah. We’ll – are you _sure_?”

Tony nodded, eyes dark and piercing. “Oh yes.”

Steve felt his own pulse pick up speed, and he felt warm all over. He swallowed. “Positive?”

Tony rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Yes, baby.”

Steve stood and walked around the table to Tony, kneeling so they were at eye level. Tony’s eyes were clouded with heat and his breath was just uneven enough to tell Steve all he needed to know. He leaned forward, pressing his lips into Tony’s.

It was instant, a furnace tipping over and flooding molten heat into Steve’s body. He reached up and wrapped a hand around the back of Tony’s neck to pull him closer, and Tony growled and folded against Steve like he was made to be there. The kiss deepened into something wicked and delicious, and Steve could smell and taste nothing but Tony now.

Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s middle and pulled them up and flush against each other, and Tony _arched_ and _god,_ there was nothing better than this. He pulled back just long enough to pull Tony down the hall and into the bedroom, but it was far too long to be apart. He captured Tony’ lips back with his own, lowering his lover down onto the bed underneath him. He groaned at the sensation of Tony’s body, pressed flush and hot against his own.

He slipped a leg in between Tony’s and ground down, the heat jumping up ten notches when Tony gasped and moaned into his mouth. Tony was hard and pulsing under him, body breathless and pliant. He couldn’t _wait_ to unravel him, bit by bit.

Steve’s hands moved almost of their own accord, reaching under Tony’s shirt and dragging his fingers up Tony’s stomach. Tony shivered underneath him, his mouth slipping open. Steve kept his lips on Tony’s, tongue dipping into his mouth, their hips slotting together with aching heat.

Tony’s hands moved then, blazing scorched trails up Steve’s sides as he tried his damnedest to rip Steve’s shirt off. Steve pulled it over his head, and Tony dove upward to plant his lips on Steve’s neck. He let out a choked breath, back arched, and his eyes slid closed as he ran fingers through Tony’s thick hair. Hands and lips and tongue explored Steve's neck and chest and stomach, tiny fiery bursts of pleasure that went straight to Steve’s dick.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he grabbed Tony by the shoulders and pressed him back into the covers. He licked a stripe up Tony’s throat, coaxing a groan out of him before attacking his mouth again. For the smallest second, his peeked up from underneath the clouds of heat, and he pulled back long enough to meet his eyes.

“Is this okay?”

Tony looked completely fucked –eyes black with lust, lips red and swollen, breath leaving him in hot pants – but he looked surprised at the question. Then his beautiful features split into a wide grin, and he reached up to steal another kiss.

“A-okay, soldier. Do your worst.”

Steve frowned and shook his head, lowering himself down until his face was an inch from Tony’s. He brushed a thumb down his cheek and kept his voice firm.

“No, I’m gonna do my _best._ I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

He reached down between them, his hand dipping down past Tony’s waistline and around his dick, and he smiled when Tony bucked into his hand.

“ _Ah –_ Steve Rogers, you are – _fuck,_ a work of God.”

His voice shook, and Steve worked his hand a little faster, thumb pressing up against the tip. Tony moaned and arched up into Steve’s body, his breath quaking.

“ _Steve…”_

He leaned down to kiss him, swallowing the sounds Tony made as he moved his hand faster, pressed a little harder. Tony growled as he gathered his own shirt up in two fistfuls and yanked it over his own head. Their clothes piled up on the floor one by one until Steve was staring down at Tony, naked and flushed and breathless underneath him.

The first time Tony had taken his shirt off for him, it had been hard to swallow down the shock; scars littered Tony’s back and shoulders and chest, all thick and jagged and blunt and thin and discolored. Tony’s body told a story Steve would never know – posed a whole book of questions he’d never find answers to. And after Steve's conversation with Bruce, those scars only grew more foreboding as the possibilities narrowed down. And Steve would never know for sure.

But Steve was coming to terms with that; Tony had survived, and he was here with him now. Steve would never let anything else happen to him. That was all that mattered.

Steve made his way down Tony’s body, kissing every scar he could get his hands on. Tony squirmed and made small breathless noises until he had Tony’s hips in his hands. He placed a tender kiss on the middle of his shaft, making it pulse. Then he met Tony’s eyes darkly before he wrapped his mouth around him.

Tony cried out, hands coming up to twist in Steve’s hair while he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. He closed his eyes, memorizing this feeling and listening to Tony’s broken moans. After a minute or two he pulled off, looking up at Tony.

“Are you ready for lube?”

For the smallest moment, Tony looked anxious. Then more lust replaced that look, and he nodded.

“Okay.” He reached under the bed, fingers closing around a small bottle and a square package. He smiled up at Tony, pulling up the lube and condom before swallowing him whole again. Tony gasped as he threw his head back. He rose and fell and rose again, sucking him off while he poured oil out onto his hands. He kept his touches soft and light, kept Tony distracted while he stretched him slowly. Tony wriggled a little in discomfort, but Steve hollowed his cheeks and took him in all the way, and Tony sighed and became pliant under him again. Once he was able to get two fingers, he curled them.

Like clockwork, Tony screamed and arched off the bed, fingers tightening in Steve’s hair under the double onslaught. He pulled him in deeper while he stretched him wider, his cries sending waves of heat through Steve's body. Finally he pulled back, kissing his way up Tony’s chest again.

“Are you ready?”

Tony looked him dead in the eye, and behind layers of black lust he saw determination there.

“Yes.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

He lined himself up and slid in, inch by inch, ignoring the tight heat and watching Tony’s expression closely. Once he was in to the hilt he stayed there, resolutely _not_ shaking from the effort it took to keep still.

After a few deep breaths, Tony spoke in a low whisper. “ _Move._ ”

He obeyed, strokes slow and shallow at first, and Steve groaned. It felt amazing, hot and tight and better than he’d ever imagined it could. He thrusted deeper and faster, and he saw it on Tony’s face the moment he hit it. Tony screamed, eyes wide and body trembling, and his hands fisted into the sheets at his sides.

“ _Steve –_ oh god, _fuck, Steve –_ “

He slammed frantically inside him, pushing faster and harder and deeper until Tony arched and gasped and cried underneath him, clinging and shaking and _soclosecoclosecoclose –_

“God, _Tony!”_

He held on by a thread, sweet wet heat licking every inch of him while he listened to Tony’s strangled moans and torn whimpers as he begged for _harder Steve please oh god yes more faster Steve more please more –_

His lips closed in on Tony’s neck while pushed desperately into him, slamming harder and harder and just seconds from the edge. He pressed his lips to Tony’s ear, and his voice came out in a broken whisper.

“ _I want you to come for me, baby_.”

One last strangled keen, and then Tony’s eyes rolled back and his whole body jerked, pressing back against Steve inside him. Steve thrusted frantically into him one, two more times before he followed, arching into Tony and crying his name.

The white spots faded from Steve’s vision after a couple minutes, leaving him and Tony panting and nuzzled in each other’s arms. Their bodies were sticky with sweat and cum, but Steve couldn’t remember ever having been happier than in this moment. He shifted and saw that Tony was grinning at him lazily, looking on the verge of sleep. Relief him out of nowhere, and he realized he'd been terrified of how Tony might react once it was all over. Steve let out a grin that he couldn't have hoped to tamper down, and reached a hand up to stroke his cheek.

“Come on now, we can’t hit the hay yet. We gotta get cleaned up.”

Tony closed his eyes, smile still in place. His voice was hoarse. “Mmm. Shower?”

Steve kissed his forehead. “Yes, shower.”

Tony’s eyes slipped open and pinned Steve in place. He loved those eyes. He would stare into them forever if he could. Tony reached up and ran a hand through Steve’s hair.

“I think I found your calling, Steven.”

He laughed. “What, sex?”

“A good ninety percent of the globe would pay top dollar for your services. _Shit,_ that was _amazing.”_

Steve smiled and kissed him. He wanted to have this moment on video, remember every word. “I’m delighted to hear it. I won’t be selling myself for cash, but I’m sure you and I can work something out for future appointments.”

Tony beamed and pulled him closer,his voice gaining some energy back at that offer. “I’ll take you up on that. Starting with shower sex.”

Steve chuckled and smiled at him. All the fear, the doubt, the boundaries had melted and Steve felt a hundred pounds lighter. That had been the best sex he’d ever had. He wanted to put that breathtaking, thousand-watt smile on Tony’s face every single day.

“Alright, let’s just – take a breather, you know, recharge the batteries.” He stretched in an exaggerated show of luxury.

“ _Hah_! No can do boyo, up and at ‘em! Let’s get clean.”

***

After he called Sharon to let her know he’d be back in town from his Missouri bullshit conference, he stepped into SHIELD HQ to report. Clint had already come in a couple hours ago, but Steve had opted to shower and wash the sweat-and-gunpowder smell out of his pores as best he could. He and Sharon had agreed to catch a movie once he got off his fake-bullshit-Missouri plane.

Fury was getting weird, and Steve wasn’t sure if it was because of the still-missing hacker or, _possibly_ , the apocalyptic _god_ situation he had on his hands. Steve was shocked that every agent in the organization hadn’t been formerly briefed on what Clint told him up on that rooftop; if a relatively innocuous _hacker_ called for all hands on deck, then the New Mexico incident called for hands, feet, and any other extremity available in Steve’s book.

He knocked the reinforced steel door three times, waiting for permission to enter. He stood at attention until Fury ordered him to take a seat. The director wasted no time and leaned forward in his swivel chair.

“So why is it that you have not yet reported on this hacker business?”

Steve kept calm, and met Fury’s eyes. “He’s stayed elusive. Romanoff and I are doing our best to track down his whereabouts, but as of now we can’t do much other than wait.”

Fury looked unimpressed. “We have a _name._ How can you not track him down when we _know who he is?_ ”

“We’ve combed through every database we have…and Tony Stark doesn’t exist. We don’t know _when_ , but at some point in his life he made himself a ghost. If he’s operating under any identity at all, it’s not under Tony Stark.”

As much as it hurt, he was thankful in moments like these, with Fury’s heavy glare pressing on him, that Tony Edwards never told Steve where he’d planned to run to before he stormed out of his apartment kitchen. As much as it terrified Steve not knowing where Tony was or what was happening with him, it made it easier to lie to Fury’s face and not put him in further danger.

“We have an original name, there is _no way_ in pluperfect _hell_ that two of my top agents have not yet managed to retrieve a motherfucking _pseudonym_ to track down! What the _fuck_ have you and Romanov been _doing_ all this time, playing footsie?”

Steve bit his tongue, and took a deep breath. “We have been working with the information we have. Which, sir, is next to nothing. We have a name that has been cleaned out from every government and corporate file in America, we have the patterns we observed when he was hacking our servers, and that’s it. We cannot find him until we get a lead, and we won’t get a lead until he hacks something else.”

“Then _set a trap, make_ him hack something! We know his patterns and what he’s interested in, set a motherfucking _trap_ and apprehend this bastard! This is the longest duration of time SHIELD has ever taken to neutralize a threat!”

Something in Steve snapped. “We never confirmed that he was a threat, sir.”

Fury glared. “ _Excuse me?”_

Steve took a silent, deep breath. “Tony Stark was never confirmed as a threat to SHIELD, only implied to be one. If SHIELD were to choose to neutralize him upon locating him, we could lose a valuable potential addition to our forces.”

Fury stood, actually managing to make Steve’s breath hitch for a second. Fury walked slowly around his desk until he was looming over Steve, his expression livid.

“Agent, you are here to execute SHIELD orders. Tony Stark has infiltrated SHIELD firewalls and compromised its secrets. You have killed men, _unhesitatingly,_ for less.”

Steve held his head high, refusing to cower but also not saying anything. Fury’s eyes stabbed through him.

“You should do well to remember what happens to SHIELD enemies. It’s best not to give any of us here a reason to doubt you, Captain.”

Steve looked him in the face then, anger lighting him up. “Are you threatening me, Director?”

Fury held his gaze. “Not necessarily. I’m reminding you that you have a _job,_ and a sworn duty _do that job_.”

When he finally met up with Sharon an hour later for movie night, he smiled as best he could and wrote off her concern at his nauseated expression, claiming he was just tired. He didn’t remember what the movie was about – his mind was churning at a million miles an hour, corrosive worry for Tony and for himself making it impossible to concentrate. He remembered Bucky’s disapproving frown every time Steve talked about rising to the top at SHIELD, remembered him warning Steve to be careful, that this shit was dangerous. He’d always assumed Buck was talking about the missions.

Fury would try to keep him there, and would order him to kill Tony if SHIELD ever managed to track him down. And if Steve disobeyed, he’d become just another target that his friends would be forced to neutralize. Two more heads turned inside out, grey matter splashed on concrete. He and Tony wouldn’t even see it coming.

But fuck if Steve would ever let that happen. He’d make sure SHIELD never found Tony Stark, even if that meant Steve would never lay eyes on him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was so. Hard. First sex scene I've ever written, I had no clue how exhausting it is to write those. I will never look at erotica the same way again. Hope it was half-way decent at least?


	6. Chapter 6

Despite having worked with Natasha Romanov for a few years now, Steve sometimes still had trouble pinning her down. Every expression Natasha showed on her face, she deliberately _put_ there – she was an emotional chameleon. Maybe it had something to do with being trained as a spy since before she hit puberty – where most kids got awkward first kisses and humiliating social experiences to define themselves, Natasha had gotten stuck with (or been blessed with?) a polished pistol aim and undercover assignments in foreign countries. Something about lying about her identity that young had made her a very slippery adult. Her real personality was hard to find on a good day.

And here she was, in all her catsuited glory when he showed up at work the morning after the best goddamned sex of his life, hands on her hips and eyebrow quirked. He stopped short at her expression, suddenly worried he’d forgotten pants or something.

“What?”

Her lips tilted up in the barest hint of a smile. Her voice, around Steve at least, was usually a luxurious cross between bored and taunting. “Let me guess, you got some from the guy at the club.”

Steve blushed, but his eyebrows furrowed all the same. “What club?”

She blinked slowly at him. “ _Nol Gradusof_.”

“Huh?”

“That very cold Russian night club. Surely you don’t party so often that you forgot all that body paint?”

She was smirking, but Steve was a little bit freaked out. “You were there? I didn’t see you.”

She nodded. “I was following a target.”

He snorted. “Is that code for getting drunk? There’s no way you kept track of someone in that place without – you know – dancing on them.”

Her smile was a slow, curling thing. “Is that what _you_ were doing? You’re an efficient assassin Steve, which target was the brunette?”

He smiled a little, looking down at his shoes. “Classified, Romanov.”

This morning, he’d woken up to Tony buried into his side, sleeping peacefully for once. Steve had stretched, and the motion had made Tony scrunch his eyes open and smile blurrily at him. He hadn’t been able to help himself when he’d wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and pulled him up against him. They’d stayed that way for a while before Steve got up and got ready for work.

Before, he’d felt like he’d been falling too fast and hard for a man who wasn’t capable of the kind of relationship Steve wanted. Like there was a steel wall between himself and Tony, and that he’d never be able to fully reach him. But Tony was a hell of a lot more adaptable than Bruce had given him credit for. Sure, he had his secrets and his demons, but Steve did too – he lied to Tony, every single day, about how he _killed_ people _for a living._ That wasn’t something you could just _fib_ about and not be considered some kinda fucked in the head.

But they were coming together, closer and deeper every day, and Tony was opening up for him like a flower. They were both messed up people, and neither of them knew the half of the other’s darkness, but they _worked anyway._

“M-hmm. What’s his name?”

Steve’s grin widened a little. “Tony.”

She got an evil glint in her eye. “Is he still with you? You should bring him around to SHIELD, let him meet the parents.” It was a joke, so Steve laughed, but the idea chilled him to the core, just like she knew it would.

“Not…no. Nope.”

This got a (genuine?) chuckle out of her. “Then we’ll have a movie night, Clint and Coulson and I, and you can bring him around and pretend we’re just normal friends. I’d like to meet him.”

She meant it, he could tell, and Steve felt a sudden, huge rush of affection for her. Under that stony chameleon exterior, Natasha cared and wanted to meet the man who obviously meant a lot to Steve. He smiled. “That sounds great, Nat. Name a date and I’ll bring him around.”

Later that day, Fury and his stink-eye assigned Steve and Natasha to track down their mysterious hacker, who was still showing up in their mainframes, checking SHIELD’s weapons specs every week on the dot. Steve still believed smarts of that caliber could come in handy on their side, but Fury ordered the two of them to assassinate their target anyway.

Natasha met his eye, expression bland. “Steve isn’t very familiar with computer programming or software, but you must know our hacker’s work is highly sophisticated, otherwise we would’ve apprehended them already. I hope you’re not expecting this to be a one-weekend assignment, Fury, because you’ll be disappointed.”

Fury pursed his lips. “Well it goes without saying then, don’t waste your expansive window of opportunity by slacking. Because once that window closes, I _will_ be angry.”

Steve frowned a little. “How wide is our window?”

Natasha responded instantly. “At least six months.”

Fury’s already-wide eye grew bigger, and he looked ready to object before he visibly reigned himself in. This was _Romanov_ after all – her estimate was going to turn out accurate, give or take a week. Fury nodded.

“Six months it is. Keep me posted on progress, I want reports from the both of you every two weeks.”

Steve didn’t think much on his new assignment. He was much more focused on tomorrow, when he could see Tony again and give him that shower sex he’d promised him.

***

Bucky answered the door a minute after Steve knocked, looking like he’d lost a fight with his own pillow. The bedhead was almost a diagnosable condition and he had his shirt on backwards. He rubbed his eyes as he held the door open.

“Steve?”

He smiled. “Can I come in?”

Buck swung the door open all the way in reply, turning and leaving Steve to follow him as he lumbered toward the kitchen. Two turkey sandwiches and some small talk later, Bucky sat down next to him at the dining table next to him.

“So what’re you doin’ here? You seem happy as shit.”

Steve beamed at him. “I think I love her, Buck.”

Bucky blinked, mid-bite, and swallowed before he responded. “Sharon?”

He nodded, grinning like a maniac. Bucky looked happy for him, but a little bit analytical. He cocked his head.

“What made you reach this conclusion, Stevie?”

He took a deep breath, unable to keep the smile off his face. He leaned forward, looking Bucky in the eye. He kept his voice low. “I told her. About SHIELD.”

His friend’s brown eyes grew huge. “You _what?_ ”

Steve felt his breath quicken, excited just thinking about it. “I told her about what I do, my job and everything – I mean I tried to avoid the gory details, but I told her that I work for a secret organization branched from the U.N. and that I eliminate United Nations enemies and threats. And she – I mean it was a shock, I could see it on her face, but she didn’t leave me. She didn’t even leave my house or anything when I told her, she just nodded and took a second and then started asking more questions about it. We talked about it for a while and – and she’s okay with it. I _told_ her I work for _SHIELD,_ and she’s okay with it.”

Bucky smiled. “That’s awesome, Steve. But – where does the love part come in?”

Steve leaned in toward him again, his voice soft. “You remember all that time ago, when I talked about loving Tony, because he was normal in the way that I never could be? Like he had a normal job, and didn’t kill people for a living and shit.”

Bucky nodded, brows furrowed. Steve looked down.

“Well, turns out he wasn’t normal at all. Not only did he have all that fucked up stuff that happened to him – which did _not_ make me love him _any_ less, don’t get me wrong – but Malibu Point was just his day job. He was a hacker, a _really_ good one. Well, is. He –“ Steve sighed, lowered his voice. This was classified shit, after all. “He hacked SHIELD.”

Bucky gasped. “ _What the fuck!”_

Steve shook his head. “Yeah, so we were – lying to each other, for months, about…being professional rivals, on a _lethal_ scale. He was the hacker digging in our weapon specs, I was the agent assigned to kill him, and neither of us even _knew._ ”

Buck looked shell shocked. Mouth open, eyes wide. Was he even breathing? “ _No fuckin’ way._ ”

Steve nodded, looking down. He wasn’t too sure what Bucky was thinking, beyond being totally caught off guard. He knew it was a lot to take in.

“So…that’s why he left. Once he hacked the personal employee files and saw my name, he learned that he was _my target_ specifically. I think – I think he thought I got into a relationship with him just because of my assignment.”

Bucky swallowed. “So that you could get close to him and like – kill him in his sleep or something?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I guess. He’s smart though, must’ve realized that doesn’t add up once he cooled down. I hope anyway. I mean I had ten opportunities to kill him every single day for months. But he was long gone by the time he woulda calmed down and seen that, probably halfway across the globe by then.”

Bucky looked down. “ _Fuck.”_

And that pretty much summed up the entire predicament, didn’t it? It was probably the most supportive thing that could’ve come from his best friend’s mouth about the whole thing. Steve sighed, but there was a warmth there that came from not being alone – he’d _finally_ gotten that shit off his chest.

Secrets had started weighing a ton since Tony. He’d lied about his occupation for an entire committed relationship. Then he’d had to lie about why they’d broken up. Finally he couldn’t lie anymore, and he’d just _told_ Sharon everything Tony had had to find out through chance. It had just slipped out like sand through his fingers. Impossible to hold onto anymore.

And now Bucky. Who was shaking his head, looking lost. Buck took a deep breath. “And you can’t…find him somehow, tell him all this?”

Steve shook his head. “SHIELD’s still after him. That would put him in so much danger. Plus, I – I’ve got something good, with Sharon. I think I’ve got something really good with her. She’s…the _normal_ I thought I had with Tony, but didn’t. Does that make sense?”

Bucky looked over Steve’s shoulder somewhere, eyes far off. “I guess so. Whatever makes you happy, Stevie. I’ll support you no matter what. Just – I don’t want you to pick Sharon just because Tony’s an impossibility, you know? The woman deserves to be more than somebody’s afterthought.”

Steve blinked, and felt a sudden surge of irritation. “Of course she’s not a fucking afterthought, Buck, what the hell? I _love_ her.”

Bucky frowned, but looked a helluva lot calmer than Steve felt. “Then why did a conversation about Sharon turn _back_ into a conversation about Tony?”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky shook his head. “Steve, every part of your relationship with Sharon has Tony in it somehow. It’s either…she’s the opposite of Tony here so you like that, or she’s the same as Tony there so you like that. You need to love this girl for _her,_ Steve. This isn’t fair to her.”

Steve’s heart was pounding with fury. “I _do_ love her for her. Sharon is amazing and I am in love with her. Tony’s not in my life anymore.” Suddenly he couldn’t stomach the thought of entertaining this conversation any longer. He stood up and started toward the front door. “And fuck you for assuming otherwise.”

“Steve!” he heard Bucky yell, but he’d already slammed the door behind him.

***

Two days later, it happened.

The day before, Steve had had the best sex of his life _again,_ and his doubts were easing with each passing minute. Tony had seemed loose and easy and open, all the tenseness draining from his eyes and muscles until it was only the tiniest of traces. Still there, but Steve could work with that.

“I gotta tell y’somethin’.”

And then there was today.

Steve had come to Tony’s apartment, not as planned per se, but at Bruce’s request. He said Tony had been texting him some pretty weird shit and he would really appreciate it if Steve would go over and check on him, make sure everything was alright. Steve was already in his car by the time he responded with a yes.

And good thing he hadn’t taken his time, because this was the first time Steve had ever been able to _tell_ that Tony was drunk. Which meant he was fucking _wasted._ Tony had a mostly-empty fifth in his hand and he was sitting on the couch looking sort of hunched. All the lights were off when Steve had come in.

“Tony, what’s going on?”

Tony shook his head, looking devastated. He was unshaven. “I need to tell you somethin’.”

Steve nodded, worry spiking. What had he done? Tony’s eyes were bloodshot and he had on the same clothes that he’d worn when he left Steve’s house yesterday.

“Okay. Tony, what happened?”

Tony shook his head again, looking down. “I couldn’t – I really like you, Steve.”

Steve’s heart was thudding dully in his ears. “What happened, Tony?”

Tony sighed. “And I need to tell y’this so we can keep having sex, you know? No secrets.”

_Oh my god he cheated he cheated what am I even gonna do he cheated –_

“What secret, Tony? You gotta tell me.”

Tony looked up finally, and his eyes widened in a surprisingly lucid, intelligent expression. “Woah slow down there, I haven’t…done anything stupid. Everything’s okay Steve. I mean I think it probably will be, since you’re not a bad person…”

The relief that slammed into him left him feeling cold. He took a deep breath, and his brows furrowed. He had no fucking clue what was going on here. He bent down.

“Okay, lemme see that.” He grabbed the bottle out of Tony’s loose grasp, setting it down on the coffee table before wrapping hands around his boyfriend’s upper arms and lifting. Tony rose, shuddering a little and swaying a lot, and then he was standing and leaning heavily against Steve, his forehead buried into his chest.

“Ugh…”

Steve wrapped his arms around his waist. Tony smelled like liquor. “Are you feeling sick?”

Tony shook his head, slowly like he was underwater. “Haven’t thrown up from drinking too much since I was twelve.”

_The fuck?_ “You’ve been drinking since you were _twelve_?”

“Earlier’n that…”

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head. This could wait. “Okay Tony, we’re gonna get you changed and into bed, and then if you wanna talk then we can talk, if you wanna sleep then we can sleep. Okay? It’ll be up to you.”

Tony’s body shuddered violently for a half a second, and then he nodded. “’Kay.”

Steve tightened his grip and started leading him down the short hallway. Tony’s apartment was dark and cluttered with all sorts of random metal parts and half-finished, over-complicated looking machines. He had to weave and step over a lot of weird crap on the way to Tony’s bedroom, but Steve supposed that’s what he got for dating an MIT graduate. Finally they stepped past the threshold into Tony’s room, and Steve lowered him into a sitting position on the bed.

When he took a step back, Tony was scowling and shaking his head, glaring at him.

“What’re you doing…?”

The pit in Steve’s stomach burst into something more violent when he realized Tony was _suspicious_. Suspicious of Steve’s intentions, when Tony was drunk and defenseless in a bed. Images assaulted Steve suddenly, of Tony pinned under someone bigger than him, and he felt murderous.

But right now, he had to be practical. So he cleared the red from his vision and tried to treat Tony like he would a fellow soldier stuck with too many memories and all the quirky fears that came with the package deal. He put his heads up in a placating gesture.

“Nothing. You’re okay Tony, I’m not gonna do anything. If you’ll let me, I’d like to get you into some pajamas okay?”

Tony considered for a moment, and then his eyes warmed and grew trusting again. His shoulders sagged and he let out a puff of air. “Okay.”

Steve kept his motions slow and gentle as he changed Tony over and got them both tucked into bed. Tony folded against him and sighed contentedly, but didn’t seem tired yet. So Steve went with the safest line of questioning he could think of, and even then he knew this conversation would get sticky.

“Hey Tony?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you’ve been drinking since before you were twelve?” He went for a chuckle, but it still sounded forced. “How on earth…”

Tony shifted but stayed pressed up against him. “Yeah, my father drank a lot, so he encouraged it. It was never – I didn’t realize that was unusual until years later.”

Steve’s mouth fell open. “Your _father_ encouraged you as a _child_ to drink?”

“Yeah. It was…good for me I think. I needed it.”

Tony was an alcoholic then. Not that there was a whole lot of doubt in Steve’s mind, but no one could binge-drink from childhood and _not_ wind up an alcoholic. “Why – you didn’t need that, Tony. Did your father tell you that?”

Tony shook his head. “No, he didn’t – I mean yeah, he told me a couple times, but that’s not why – I really _did_ need it. I wasn’t what you’d call a happy kid.”

This was so far beyond Tony’s off-limits zone. Steve wondered if he should shut this conversation down, wondered if Tony would be furious with him if he found out Steve’d let him divulge this much while obviously not in his right mind. But the questions had lingered for so _long_. The scars on Tony’s body left little to the imagination, but Steve wanted to hear him _say_ it. So that it wasn’t a mystery anymore. So that he could know, for sure, what to say and what not to, so he could know how to help, so that Tony could be his and not just something illusive and uncharted.

“What do you mean, Tony?”

Tony shifted then, tilted his head up and pinned Steve with a dull look. His eyes were empty of mirth or sadness, like he was about to comment on the weather. “My father beat the shit out of me.”

Steve had half expected it, but his whole body went cold anyway. It was like ice water had poured down his back. “What?”

Tony shrugged, looking unconcerned. “My mom left when I was really young, couldn’t take the heat I guess. He was an angry drunk, and I was always home, so I mean. Two plus two.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Before he could speak though, Tony was talking again.

“You’re th’only – there’s only one other person I ever told, and it didn’ go well. But I trust you, and I had to tell you.”

His voice came out hoarse. “What – one other person?”

Tony’s eyes shuttered and he shook his head. “Don’t wanna talk about it. But – now you know. So now I can trust you.”

Steve frowned, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Of course you can trust me. I won’t – I’m so sorry, Tony.”

The corner of Tony’s lips quirked up for a half second. “You didn’ do anything wrong.”

Steve shook his head. His eyes were stinging. “I’m sorry that ever happened to you.”

Tony waved his hand. “I left. I’ve had a good life since I got out.”

“Have you –” Steve hesitated, then plowed through anyway. “Have you received any help since you left?”

Tony blinked. “You mean like a shrink?”

Steve nodded. “A therapist, or a counselor. Just someone to talk to.”

Tony laughed humorlessly. “Steve, I think I would scare off any shrink I talked to. No, I’ve handled it fine. Just kept to myself, stayed busy, tried not t’think abut it.”

Steve pursed his lips. “Tony, you know there’s no shame in talking to someone.”

Tony gave him a tiny smile. “I know, that’s why I told you.”

Steve shook his head. “I meant talking to a professional. I know lots of soldiers who benefitted from therapy. When you experience trauma, it helps to talk about it.”

Tony frowned. “I’m not a soldier. I try not to think about it. It makes things more peaceful in my head. My mind is so loud all the time, I don’t need that shit adding to the noise.”

“But, talking –”

“I just want _peace,_ Steve. I don’t want to fight through it.”

Steve sighed, then looked at him again. “At least talk to me. Whenever something is bothering you. Or you wake up from a nightmare. Or you’re just having a bad day. If I know, I might be able to help.”

Tony smiled then, this shy smile that lit up his eyes and was utterly, entirely sincere. “Okay. Will do.”

Steve tightened his arms around him. “Good. I’ll put you on the therapist’s couch and everything. I’ll make it feel like the real deal.”

Tony snorted, pushing him away playfully. “Nah, I can think of much more productive things to do on my couch than talk about my daddy issues.”

Steve smirked. “That so?”

Tony’s eyes darkened. “Oh yes, soldier.” Then the darkness went away and he let out a surprised little noise when Steve planted a soft, entirely chaste kiss on his forehead. He pulled back and smiled at him.

“Well you’ll just have to wait for tomorrow for that. You’re drunk.”

“Killjoy. You’re cockblocking your _own_ cock right now.”

Steve grinned. “Too bad.”

He looked into Tony’s eyes for something, he wasn’t sure what. Past the drunken attempt at nonchalance, he saw relief there. Steve reached up, and grabbed his face gently between his hands.

“Thank you for telling me this. For trusting me.”

He saw his jaw tighten for just a moment, and then Tony’s eyes misted. He didn’t look away, though. “’Course, muscles. Anything for you.”

Steve smiled, his own eyes watery. “Anything for me?”

All the lightness left Tony’s face. “Anything.”

They fell asleep like that, pressed against each other, the smell of scotch between them. As Tony’s breathing evened out, Steve kept his fingers in Tony’s hair, their limbs tangled together, and he thought about what this meant. Tony was cracking open for him. He didn’t know everything, but he was starting to get an idea. Of who Tony was before he’d met him. Of all the things he’d experienced. It painted a dark, noxious picture.

But Steve could no longer ignore the glaring fact that he was in love with this man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support! Let me know what you thought of this one :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, sorry for taking so long with this update 0.o I sorta broke my finger. And broke my internet. Things got better, so. Hi.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who've commented and kudosed this thing so far, you make my whole day. Hope you like :D

Months swept past him in a breathtaking blur of shiny blonde curls and musical laughter punctuated by brutal, bloody assassinations that he _told his partner about._ He and Bucky made up two weeks after their argument, abandoning the subject and agreeing without words to never breach the topic again. Two months after that, he terminated the lease on his apartment and traded it in for a nicer one fit for two. Sharon was thrilled. Her grin had left him weak-kneed and speechless.

It had been three months since they’d spent their first night at the new place. He stared into the brass-bordered bathroom mirror, his own bright eyes gliding sluggishly over his face. This suit had been a good choice – the subtle blue detailing brought out Steve’s eyes and eliminated any nervous flush he’d (probably) develop tonight at dinner. He’d asked Sharon a couple days ago not to leave work late tonight, as she was prone to doing, because he’d made reservations at a _very_ high-class joint for 7pm and she’d probably appreciate some time to get ready. Instead of coming back to their apartment, she packed a nice dress and makeup and took it to the hospital with her so she could change there and meet up with him at the restaurant.

He loved that about Sharon – her flexibility. She wasn’t one of those people, like Steve, who were set in their ways and patterns and couldn’t handle stirring the pot or doing something out of routine. Her easygoing willingness to modify her schedule on a dime taught him not to take shit so seriously, and it balanced him out.

And it was probably for the better anyway – he needed the time alone to get his shit together. She was going to look stunning tonight, and if he’d had to get dressed and ready side-by-side with her he might have lost his nerve.

He stepped out of the bathroom and lowered himself onto the black leather loveseat in the living room. Sharon had done an awesome job leading their two-person décor train through this place when they’d first moved in; together they’d hauled to home improvement stores and freaking Bed Bath and Beyonds ( _multiple_ ), together they’d slapped fresh, pale blue paint on the drab walls, and together they’d turned their flat into something Steve was proud to come home to everyday. All the furniture fit together in feng-shui suppleness, all the colors were cheerful and open. Steve and Sharon had something good here.

That thought slowed his heart’s thump-thump-thump that had been so loud he could feel it in his _hands,_ and the near-panicked itch to loosen his tie eased up and backed off. Steve took a deep breath and stared around at their place. They had made something good here.

This was as far as it got from Tony’s cluttered, eclectic apartment or Bruce’s sparse, depressing one. It was different from Steve’s old place too – outdated with the chipping paint and old mysterious stains on the floor. This place was different. Brighter and more sightly. Steve had his shit together here.

He checked his watch. His heart kicked up a notch when he saw the time, but he took a deep, purifying breath. It was 6:30pm. He could do this.

Steve climbed to his feet, the colossal weight of the tiny diamond ring in his coat pocket bumping him off-balance, just slightly. But he straightened, took another deep breath, and felt fine. He could do this.

He walked across the living room, polished shoes clipping the nice hardwood floors. Tonight was the night. He could do this. He flicked the light off and shut the door behind him.

Tonight was the night. And he could do this.

***

“ _STEVE!”_

Consciousness slammed into him like a brick wall as he bolted upright, looking around. He spotted Tony next to him, thrashing in the covers and tossing his head, face twisted like he was in pain.

“ _No…_ ”

Steve leaned over him, panic trickling into his loose limbs as his brain raced to catch up to his surroundings.

“Tony! Tony, _wake up_!”

He grabbed Tony’s arms and shook him a little bit, and that seemed to do the trick. Tony’s eyes shot open, but instead of seeing Steve’s face and calming down, Tony’s pupils only blew wider and Steve _felt_ his body thrum with terror. Tony pushed viciously against him, and adrenaline was a tricky bitch because Steve found himself actually knocked on his ass by his smaller, weaker boyfriend. As soon as he was free Tony dived out of the bed and threw himself into the corner of the room, back to the wall and hands raised against some imagined blow.

Steve felt the fear and worry of the situation, but his training kicked in then. He needed to see if this was just an intense nightmare or a flashback.

“ _Tony_.” He said it softly and didn’t move from his position on the bed. “Tony, it’s me, Steve. Can you hear me?”

Tony didn’t answer, shaking hands still raised and sweat beading on his forehead.

“ _Tony._ ” He spoke louder, but kept his tone gentle and easy.

He could see his boyfriend’s chest heaving, but his breaths were quiet like he was trying to hide or keep unnoticed. Steve tried his name a few more times and got no response.

 _Flashback it is, then._ Steve climbed, slowly, out of the bed and toward him.

“Tony, it’s Steve. It’s August fourteenth, and you’re in my apartment in Brooklyn. Nothing is going to hurt you. It’s August fourteenth.”

His gaze still miles off, Tony muttered, “ _Please, Obed-_ _cold._ ”

Steve shook his head even though Tony couldn’t see it. “No, it’s warm outside right now. It’s summer time, and we’re in my apartment.”

Tony blinked, seeming confused by what he was hearing but at least he was _hearing_ it now.

“You’re okay, Tony, you’re safe here with me alright?”

Those sharp brown eyes focused a little bit more, and Tony swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah Tony. Nothing’s gonna happen to you while you’re here. It’s August, and you’re in my apartment with me.”

With a final choked gasp, Tony was with it. He looked around the dark room, grinding his teeth and when his eyes landed on Steve, half-naked and coaxing, the last remnants of the confusion and panic drained out of his eyes.

“Steve.” It sounded breathless, but his respiration was already normalizing.

“ _Tony._ ” He reached a slow hand out to him, asking wordlessly of Tony’d let him help him up off the ground. After a moment, Tony nodded and slid a shaking hand into his own.

“ _It’s okay, baby._ ” Steve whispered it while he pulled Tony to his feet, wrapping his arms around him when he felt his whole body shaking like a leaf. Tony leaned against him, head buried into his shoulder, and sniffed.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He brought a hand to the back of Tony’s head and held him there. Tony groaned. “You’re alright.”

Tony stayed loose in his grasp, and his voice came out hoarse. “I know.”

Eventually Steve led them both to bed, this time with Tony pressed firmly up against him. Steve ran his fingers through his hair, making the tightly coiled muscles in Tony’s back loosen and relax under Steve’s palm. Soon Tony was shaking his head, an air of embarrassment thick around him.

“Sorry about…that.” He stayed buried into his shoulder, not meeting Steve’s eyes. He tightened his grip.

“Don’t be sorry, Tony. I’m glad I could help you through that. Do you…what did you dream about?”

Tony was halfway through physically closing off when he seemed to remember his promise to be honest with Steve about this kinda shit, when he could at least. The concentrated relief Steve felt when he saw that change of heart was maybe not healthy.

“Um…” Tony pulled back to look at him, licking his lips. “You were there, actually. We grew up neighbors. Best friends. Then you were over one day I guess, and Howard – my dad – something set him off. And he beat you to death.”

Steve swallowed. “I’m here. Don’t worry about things like that.”

Tony shook his head. “Not a big deal. Just a dream.”

His Tony-speak translator spit out, _that dream was unconnected to what happened when I woke up, and that is_ so _not open for discussion._

So Steve nodded and gentled his voice as much as he could. “When – how long have you had flashbacks like these, Tony?”

Brown eyes froze over, hard as steel, and he looked away. “Dunno really. They don’t happen all that often, obviously.”

 _PTSD,_ Steve’s mind whispered from the edges. He couldn’t come out and say that though. Instead, he cocked his head and spoke slowly, inviting Tony to interrupt or reject him at any point. “I have a friend, from the army, who specializes in – ” ( _PTSD_ ) “– stuff like that. I know you’re not into the whole…soldier therapy thing, but he might be able to help you understand what brings those on, and how you can feel better.”

Tony stared at him for a long time without blinking. Steve felt like he was being X-rayed.

“No.”

Steve frowned. “Huh?”

His eyes never left his face. “I don’t wanna see a shrink, baby. I’m not a soldier and I’ve been dealing with this for nearly my whole life. Let’s go out to eat somewhere cheap and have mind-blowing sex afterward instead. That sounds like a much better game plan, doesn’t it?”

A flicker of irritation licked the inside of Steve’s stomach. Words came out before he could properly check himself.

“Why are you so determined on being in pain? Don’t you _want_ to feel better?”

Tony’s intense stare froze. “What exactly makes you think that _talking to your soldier buddy_ will make me feel any better, Steve?”

Steve bit back an annoyed groan. “Because that’s how human psychology _works,_ Tony? Talking helps with stuff like this. For someone so outrageously intelligent, sometimes you can be _so –”_ He bit off.

 _“_ So _what,_ Steve?”

Steve looked away. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No please, Steven, enlighten me. You think I’m _stupid_ or _stubborn_ for not confiding in people? You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, that I can promise you.”

“I _know_ that, and you know _why_ I don’t have a fucking clue?”

Tony sat up, staring down at him like he’s just asked Tony why he wouldn’t sprint with a loaded pistol in each hand.

“You know, for someone with remarkably _average_ intelligence, you’re fucking slow. Have you ever _once_ considered that the shit I don’t talk about will destroy me from the inside out if I start blabbing about it? Fucking idiot.”

Steve sat up then too, staring him down.” It’s _already_ destroying you, you goddamn –”

Tony was already getting up and getting dressed. “Nope, no thank you Mr. All American. I have work in the morning and your Cro-Magnon genius is _exhausting._ I’ll talk to you later.”

“Tony!” Steve was fucking pissed, and stood to give him a piece of his mind, but Tony had already slammed the bedroom door behind him.

“FUCK!” Steve collapsed back into his bed and scrubbed a hand down his face. What just happened? “ _Fuck!"_

He had to find Tony and talk to him. But it was still dark outside, and Steve was in his underwear, so he set an alarm for the start of Tony’s café shift and flopped back against the bed. He’d deal with this shit in the morning.

Five hours later and he was dressing in a rush, nervous almost like a teenager going on his first date. Steve stared at himself through the smudged mirror, and he reached a hand up to pat his hair down and make it behave. He looked tired. He splashed icy water over his face.

When there wasn’t much else on his face he could obsess over, Steve took a deep breath and left the apartment. He unlocked his car, piled in and pulled out of his parking spot all without thinking much about it.

What was he even going to say, when he saw Tony? Steve didn’t feel _bad_ about the things he’d said – they were fucking true. Tony had PTSD, and refused to get help. He didn’t feel guilty over encouraging him to reassess the second part of that. Tony needed some goddamned therapy.

It tore Steve up every time Tony froze at something he’d say, or evaded a question. And Steve had seen a lot of unnerving shit in his career, but nothing had ever left a cold pit in Steve’s stomach like last night did. Seeing Tony on the floor like that, terrified and shaking…it spoke of open, gaping wounds that had never healed. It spoke of horrors Steve couldn't even start to understand. He didn’t want to see that. Ever again.

It was Steve’s job to help him through issues like this. It was Steve’s job to keep Tony safe, even if it was from himself. Not only were they _dating,_ which would’ve been enough reason, but Steve was a SHIELD agent. Along with, you know, killing people, _this_ was the kind of stuff that Steve, with his training and resources, was qualified to help with. Was _obligated_ to help with.

Steve sighed, eyes boring into the road as it sped under him. Tony was a paradox, a dead end. He had a problem, a big one, but didn’t want anyone to solve it for him.

But the problem wasn’t going away, so neither was Steve.

He parked, his heart pounding up somewhere near his throat. Fuck, what if Tony yelled at him, or told him to fuck off, or even broke up with him? His knuckles were white and clenched around the steering wheel, and he wasn’t driving anymore, but he didn’t want to get out of the car. His whole body felt hot.

But Steve had never been a coward. He frowned, and turned off the car and climbed out. The front door _dinged_ when he walked through, simultaneously grateful and horrified to see that the café was empty.

“What do you want.”

And then there were two sharp, angry brown eyes glaring into him from behind the barista counter, and it felt like he’d been doused in cold water. Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

“I…came to see how you were doing.”

A little crease folded between Tony’s eyebrows, and he sounded almost bored. “Just fine. Now get out.”

Steve refused to look away. Tony’s eyes looked almost feverish, like he’d had too much caffeine and too little sleep since he last saw him. He shook his head and took a deep breath. “I came to talk to you, Tony. I need to talk to you.”

Tony looked about three seconds from telling Steve to kindly go fuck himself, but then his coiled muscles seemed to collapse and he slumped forward with his elbows on the counter, looking more exhausted that Steve’d ever seen him.

“Alright, what.”

Steve frowned, wanting to reach out for him but unsure that Tony wouldn’t bite his hand off. “Do you wanna…sit down with me for a minute?”

Tony looked up at him sluggishly, and let out a big sigh. “Yup.”

He stepped around the counter and together they walked to that nostalgic table by the window where they’d had their first conversation. Steve folded himself into the same chair, and he stared at Tony lowering across him. Cagey dark eyes met his, and he was struck for the thousandth time just how long and dark Tony’s lashes were. He could stare at them forever.

How did someone so beautiful end up like this? Steve frowned – people like this were supposed to be _protected_ , kept safe and whole, because biology made people protective of people like Tony. The warm lighting kissed Tony’s face, made his cheeks look soft and his eyes look sad and Steve couldn’t imagine wanting, in any world, to hurt this man.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Steve took a deep breath, his heart beating so loudly he was scared Tony could hear it. “Look, Tony – I know that last night was…”

“Totally weird?” Tony crossed his arms, almost challenging, but there was something brittle in that bored tone. Steve furrowed his brows.

“Not really how I’d describe it…”

“Why not?” Tony cocked his head, the twist of his lips angry and set. “It was weird. Between any two normal partners, an argument like that never would have happened because the grounds for it never would have existed. Face it Steve. I’m – ” Tony scowled and looked away.

“Tony, I – I know. But what you’ve got to understand, what I’m begging you to understand, is that this conversation has _got_ to happen at some point. Whether you want it to or not. It's...been hovering here for _months_ now.”

Tony swallowed and nodded, burning a hole in the linoleum table. “Suppose that’s only fair. I’ve put you through a lot of uncomfortable shit.”

Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

Tony looked at him then, like he was begging Steve to put him out of his misery. Steve blinked, and felt like he’d lost the plot somewhere.

“I understand if you need some distance, to gain back some normalcy. I wouldn’t even dream of holding it against you – ”

“ – Wait – ” Steve blinked. “You think I’m _breaking up_ with you?”

Tony blinked. Then blinked again. “Um. Yes?”

Steve twisted his face up in confusion, then just huffed out a laugh. How they hell had they gone so completely past each other in this conversation?

“No no no, Tony, that’s not happening.” Steve reached across the table and engulfed one of Tony’s hands in both of his. “Tony, god, I’m not breaking up with you.”

Tony’s mouth hung open, and he closed it with a huge breath of relief. “Oh. Oh. Well. That’s good.”

Steve smiled and shook his head. “No, I just wanted…to talk. About last night. Tony, I know how mad you got when I brought up – you know – but…what I said wasn’t just a heat-of-the-moment thing. I still – it scares me. The flashbacks, the nightmares, the things I say on accident that upset you. I don’t want you to hide these things from me. But I also…think that you could benefit from professional help.”

He looked away from Tony, not wanting to see his scowl, and plowed on before Tony could interrupt. “Seeing someone doesn’t mean you’re weak, or somehow less than before. I know you said that talking about it would just make it worse for you, but – Tony, if what you’re saying is true, you’ve been like this for _years._ Doesn’t – isn’t that an indication that this won’t get any better unless you do something about it?”

He finally braved a glance at him, and Tony was frowning softly, sadly. It hurt Steve to see.

“Steve…I have always been like this. I – it’s who I am. You can’t cure your own personality.”

He leaned forward. “Tony, last night was _not a_ by-product of your personality. Last night was a symptom of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

Tony opened his mouth, closed it, and blinked at him. Then he frowned and shook his head. “So? If I’ve been this way since, fuck, what, fourteen years old? I’ve been this way since I started to _have_ my own personality, Steve.”

Steve shook his head. “I want you to be _happy,_ Tony. You don’t have to be in pain, even if that’s all you’ve – And. I can _help_ you with that.”

Tony was silent, looking sort of scared, and Steve frowned.

“I know that you’re not a soldier, but that doesn’t mean that you didn’t go through some fucked up shit at some point in your life. I know _so many people_ who are qualified to help you with _exactly_ what you’re experiencing, it – it fucking _aches_ every time you deny the help.”

Tony stared at his hand, still wrapped up in both of Steve’s, looking like he was chewing through something big. Steve wanted to say more, but instead he held his breath and waited for what Tony was going to say.

And then, finally, “Okay.”

Steve blinked, his heart lifting. “Okay?”

Tony looked up at him, eyes dark and tired and more than a little bit scared, but his mouth was set. “Okay. I’ll meet with your friend, the one you talked about last night. And if I hate it –”

Steve knew he was pushing his luck, but he couldn’t help himself. He pulled Tony’s hand a little closer to him. “Three visits. Please. If you still hate it after three visits, we can try something else.”

Tony eyed him up a moment before conceding. “Okay, three visits. He free today?”

Steve tried not to widen his eyes, but it shouldn’t have surprised him; Tony never committed to anything half-assedly. “Um, yeah, actually. Do you wanna come with me to meet him after your shift’s up?”

Tony shrugged, the picture of nonchalance all over again.

“Sure.”

So here they were six hours later, holding hands side by side as Steve led him past the threshold of a nondescript tan building titled _“VA Office”_ according to the sign outside. Tony buzzed with tension beside him, his body stiff and breaths quiet. Steve weaved through the familiar halls, treading and cutting corners until he saw the man he was looking for.

“Sam?”

The handsome black man, dressed nicely and absorbed in what looked to be some personal file, looked up and smiled when he saw the two of them.

“Steve!” He closed the file and stood from his desk, walking over and giving Steve a hug. “What the hell man, I haven’t seen you in a while! How’ve you been?”

Steve smiled. “I’ve been great, how ‘bout you?”

Sam grinned. “Never better. The group I’ve got right now is really comin’ along well. ‘Course it’d be faster going if we had decent funding, but what else is new. Who’s this?”

Steve put a gentle hand on Tony’s back. He could feel each muscle pulled tight through his shirt, and Steve wished he could give him more. “This is my partner, Tony. Thought we’d swing by so you could meet him.”

Sam didn’t pause, but he shot Steve a brief look and Steve could see the gears turning in his head. He’d probably have some explaining to do, if Sam didn’t fill the gaps himself within the next five minutes of conversation – he was awfully perceptive, given his job.

Sam just grinned, bright and extra warm. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Tony. Is his workout routine drivin’ you up the wall yet?”

The apprehension lifted out of Tony’s eyes, and he blinked before smirking. “After I woke up to him doing like four hundred pushups on my bedroom floor I’ve made him keep that in the gym, actually.”

Sam laughed, his smile easy. “Dude, I first met him when he kept lapping me on my morning run. He lapped me _three times._ And my route was _miles long._ Only way you get that good – ” He pointed at Steve in mock-seriousness. “ _Obsession._ ”

Tony laughed, and _god_ Sam was a miracle worker. How’d he manage to diffuse eighteen hours worth of tension in just a couple minutes? Steve crossed his arms and pulled an annoyed scowl. “Hey, I balance my time out very well, fuck you very much.”

Sam smiled at him. “Whatever you say, man. Anyway, how’re you two doin’?”

Tony’s smile turned a little tired, but he didn’t freeze up. Steve reminded himself to throw Sam a surprise party or something for his birthday, because he was _good_ at his job.

“Well, I came to ask about meeting with you soon, actually. For – therapy.” Tony wrinkled his nose a little at the word, and Sam laughed.

“Hey, no need for such colorful language. We can just talk if you want. I’ll send Steve the schedule for my group meetings so you know when I’m not busy. Unless you wanna go to the group thing, you’re welcome to that too.”

Tony laughed, less tense but still – well, tense. “Doubt that’ll happen – not really a group person – but the offer’s appreciated.”

Sam smiled at him again. “Don’t mention it. Anyway, you wanna see around the building? Steve’s seen some of it but we just built a new section toward the back…”

They followed Sam through the halls, grabbed some snacks from a vending machine before heading out back to the gardens, used for _calming people’s minds_ as he so studiously put it. It was beautiful though, green grass under their feet and billowing oaks interlocking up above them to make a ceiling. With the scenery and the gentle sound of birds, Steve could definitely see how a walk here every week could calm some minds. With every passing moment, Tony loosened up more and more, and if Steve were the jealous type, he would’ve been pissed at how quickly Tony’d become comfortable around Sam.

Instead, he was just happy. Tony had found a person who knew their way around mental health like someone had grafted a map into his brain. He needed someone like this, a professional like this.

After Tony had downed whatever crackers he’d gotten from the machine, he glanced over at Steve’s fruit snacks and then decided, “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go get some of those.”

Steve smiled at him as he left. “Yell if you get lost!”

It was an opportunity he hadn’t thought he’d get – the second the door swung behind Tony’s retreating form, Sam turned to him. “Okay, dude. Spill.”

Steve looked at him and sighed. “Tony’s got some issues.”

“Yeah, I’d gathered that, thanks for the help. What kind, though, exactly?”

Steve bit his lip. “PTSD, though I’m no doctor.”

“What makes you think that?”

He shook his head. “He has all the classic symptoms. Down to the flashbacks.”

Sam frowned, and the birds sang cheerfully above their heads.

“He been to war?”

“No, he’s never even enlisted. Whatever happened to him, it happened as a civilian. And a kid, I think.”

Sam blinked, looking sad. “Well. That narrows shit down some.”

Steve nodded. “We got in a fight, he didn’t want to talk to anyone, but I convinced him you could help. I know he’s not a soldier, Sam, but – ”

“Woah dude, chill out. ‘Course I’m helping. He’s your boyfriend man, that makes him practically family.”

Steve sighed, looking at the grass under his feet. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Don’t sweat it. Oh look, here he is.”

The door opened, and Tony was back. They both watched him as he walked up, fruit snacks in hand, and smirked.

“I know, I’m handsome as shit, right?”

Steve laughed, and his arms came up around him without thinking about it. “Yes, you are.”

They hung out there in the grass, joking and laughing and sharing stories while they ate junk food and teased each other, and Tony was relaxed as if early this morning he had not been paralyzed and backed into a bedroom corner. Steve felt like things were about to get better.

***

Click _._

_“Hello?”_

_“Steve?”_

Pause _._

 _“Holy shit, is –_ Tony _?”_

_“Yeah. Hey, Steve.”_

_“Tony, oh my god, are you alright?”_

_“Yeah, I’m – fine. I’m fine. How have you been?”_

_“Ah – good, I’ve been good. You?”_

_“I’ve been alright. I heard through the grapevine that someone’s getting married?”_

Pause.

_“Huh? Oh! Oh, yeah. Sharon, I – you remember that girl who stood me up, when we first met?”_

A laugh. _“Yeah. Damn, she picked you up for a second date?”_

_“Yeah. Our wedding’s a month away, ah, April sixteenth, I dunno if you’d – ”_

_“No, I think I’ll skip that one”_ Another laugh. _“No offense, it’s just that the whole hiding thing won’t work out when I show up to – an employee’s wedding. Hah. Rather not.”_

_“Tony, I – I wish I could’ve explained or – ”_

_“ – You don’t have to make any excuses. I’m…glad that you’re happy with her.”_

Pause.

 _“…You_ are _happy with her, right?”_

_“What? Oh, yeah, I’m very happy. Super happy with Sharon. I’m excited. It’s just – ah. Is there anything I can…I mean, you’re still hiding?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Is there. Anything I can do to help? I – can’t say. Very much, but – I’m scared. For you.”_

Pause.

_“Tony?”_

_“Yeah, still here. Don’t worry, Steve, I’ll be fine.”_

_“Tony – ”_

_“ – I miss you.”_

Pause.

_“Shit, I’m sorry, brain to mouth filter, you know I’ve always been bad with that, let’s just bleep that one out – ”_

_“ – I miss you too.”_

_“…No, Steve, you are_ so _not allowed to go there, we can’t even – ”_

_“ – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just true.”_

Pause.

_“And Tony, I’m serious, can we – keep in touch? I don’t know how you got my number but I can imagine, and I’d really appreciate it if you could call every couple weeks at least? Just so I know you’re safe.”_

Pause. _“_

_Sure thing, muscles. You planning on changing your number anytime soon?”_

_“Yeah, I usually do pretty frequently, but if you need me to – ”_

_“ – Don’t sweat it, I’m good at finding you. Heh. As you know. I’ll call every week. Sound good?”_

_“Yeah, it does. And – please, Tony, be safe. If you get in trouble, or anything, call me and I’ll do what I can.”_

_“’Course. Thanks for catching up, Steve.”_

_“Yeah. I – I guess I’ll talk to you soon.”_

_“Will do. Now go have fun with your wife-to-be, I’m sure she’s pining for you.”_

_“Yeah, I guess I will.”_

Pause.

Pause.

_“Bye, Steve. It was really good to hear from you."_

Click.

_“…Goodbye Tony.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think if you've got some time!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah hey, guys...sorry about the delay. There's this TV show, Rick and Morty, which kind of stole my life and halted other fandoms for a while. To any of you out there who enjoy sarcastic, depressed alcoholic genius scientists (which, um, should be everyone here), I highly recommend you check it out. Rick Sanchez is wonderful.
> 
> Also, I don't own Interstellar, or the Avengers. I love both these things a lot though.

“ _Behind!”_

Steve ducked and spun, raising his knife just in time to sink it into the man’s gut and twist viciously. The man made an awful gurgling noise, but Steve yanked his blade back and turned away before he could crumple to the steel floor.

“Thanks, Nat.”

Natasha did not break her calm exterior as she brought down the last scientist with a taser. He was still twitching when she straightened up, tossing her blonde wig out of her eyes. “Any time. Let’s get this over with.”

He nodded, and together they walked up the sparse, dimly lit industrial hallway of crippled and lifeless bodies toward the stairwell. One floor, two, three, and the echo of their two shoes tapping the concrete sounded like a hoard of AIM goons climbing after them. The extra jump of adrenalin crystalized his vision.

Steve loved these moments. After a kill, on to take down some target, and his heart thudded and he knew exactly what he had to do. He was dangerous. He was cool-headed. He was entirely in control.

He supposed loving a life like this should have been cause for concern – he should question whether or not be was a sociopath at least. At most, it should have made him wonder if this half of his life made him deserving of someone like Tony – but that question made his entire skull so shifty and uncomfortable that he usually gave those thoughts a very wide berth. He _murdered_ people _for a living._ What would happen if Tony found out about that? He would be terrified and betrayed and everything they’d had together would be all for naught. Sometimes a spitting voice in the back of Steve’s mind asked him how he even dared to look Tony in the eye, after all that he’d done.

But AIM was bad news. Not only were they SHIELD’s patented, default, vague-as-shit “threat to national security,” but the company had racked up a truly horrific body count, highlighted with bizarre genetic mutations and human experimentation that was ten kinds of illegal. If getting some pleasure from wiping out these sick fucks was wrong, then he supposed didn’t mind.

Natasha kicked in the wooden doors for them both, guns raised, and on the other side stood…not Killian. Steve scowled, rounding on the shaking, brown-haired scientist in the middle of the office.

“ _Where is Killian?”_

She raised her hands in surrender, looking close to tears as she stared down the barrel of Steve’s pistol. “I – I don’t know! I swear I don’t know! I left to lock down our files and when I came back he was just _gone_!”

Natasha swooped forward and punched the woman in the head so fast, Steve barely caught it. The scientist folded to the floor. Steve blinked.

“Did you kill her?”

Natasha was already walking around the desk in the middle of the room, leaning down in front of the computer. “No. Had to shut her up. We won’t get answers from her until she’s less scared.”

Steve hadn’t really thought that far ahead, or considered personality-profiling the AIM lady before he’d stuck a gun in her face, and he shrugged. This was why Natasha got paid more than him. “What are you doing?”

Natasha’s fingers clipped rapidly over the keys, the light from the computer screen turning her eyes an eerie blue. “SHIELD sent us here because security and weapons information was added to AIM’s profile, without anyone from SHIELD adding it.”

He blinked. “Wait, what the fuck?”

She nodded. “It seems that our hacker is at it again, but now they’re manipulating the information in our systems that they gain access to. Essentially, they tipped us off.”

Steve stared, open-mouthed. “Why would they try to help us?”

Natasha shook her head. “No clue. He might have been working for AIM and went rogue. Or he might have had some kind of inside access.”

This was not good. “If they work for AIM, that makes even less sense.”

She nodded, eyes not leaving the screen. “Or, he might have hacked them too, and didn’t like what he found. The hacker leaves an almost unnoticeable data signature every time he hacks SHIELD...if I can find it on AIM’s server, then we’ll know he hacked it.”

Steve felt like he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him. “You think…he’s hacking more than just SHIELD?”

Amidst the _taptaptap_ of computer keys, Natasha spoke softly. “To be frank, it paints a much more solid theory than Fury’s.” She straightened all of a sudden, still staring down at the screen. “I found the signature. Our mystery hacker broke into AIM’s files.”

Steve stared around the dark office, the brunette lady still unconscious on the ground, and thought of all the dead or dying people on the first floor. “Well…so we know that in a fight between AIM and SHIELD, they’d choose us. That’s…some sort of promising, right?”

Natasha took a deep breath, a tiny frown curving her lips down. “I don’t know. This…is a weird case.”

Steve snorted. Someone had the talent and unidentified motive to hack the most secure server of the United Nations, _weekly,_ and the only active manipulation of files was in the form of glorified Easter eggs. “Understatement?”

Natasha shrugged, looking at him. “We’ll deal with this little paradigm shift later. In any case, everything the hacker added to SHIElD’s threat file on AIM was 100% correct. The experiments, the nanoengineering…anyone still alive needs to be taken into custody. They’ve got a _lot_ of questions to answer.”

Steve nodded, pulling out his phone and dialing Coulson’s number. “Hope we don’t have to stay too late…you and Clint are supposed to have normal-movie-night with my boyfriend, remember?”

Natasha smiled slyly. “Wouldn’t miss it. We’ll work something out with Fury.”

“You think Coulson should come?”

She cocked her head at him. “You’d be surprised at how much Coulson likes you. He just doesn’t show it much. I’m inviting him.”

Steve smiled and shrugged. “Alright then, Coulson’s coming too.”

After handcuffing the unconscious woman, they trudged downstairs to sift through the survivors. Quinjets touched down a few minutes later, loading docks open and ready.

***

“And how about this one, Mr. Rogers?”

The associate pulled out a splendid black tux with thin lapels and an overall sharp look, flashing a weary smile Steve’s way. Poor guy had been with Steve for a couple hours now, pulling tuxedo after dashing tuxedo off the rack, waiting as Steve tried them on, and patiently returning them to their places when Steve said they just didn’t fit quite right.

The store was white and cheerful, with sharply-dressed men and women bustling about with full hands and eager smiles. Steve and his associate stood in the middle of the store, the racks of nice suits and happy customers flowing around them like ocean currents. Steve tried not to sigh.

“This one looks good. Let’s try it out.”

Somehow maintaining his smile, the man started walking _back_ toward the dressing room when Steve felt his pocket buzz. He fished out his phone without breaking step, then froze in his tracks when he saw the caller ID. He looked up at the associate, who’d stopped and turned back, looking ready to give up on Steve’s Big Wedding Look. Not that he blamed the poor bastard.

Steve held his phone up apologetically. “I’m really sorry, I have to take this – I’ll just, um. I’ll browse around some more.”

The man nodded and walked away, and Steve’s fingers jammed frantically at the screen and he raised it to his ear, walking toward the exit.

“Steve Rogers speaking.”

“Hey Steve, it’s Bruce.”

He swallowed. Had something happened to Tony that he hadn’t known about? He felt sick. “Hi Bruce, what’s going on?”

He heard a quick, rumbly chuckle. “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me. I haven’t heard anything from…our friend in weeks. I’m getting concerned.”

The automatic doors slid open and the hot autumn breeze swallowed him. The street smelled vaguely of stale eggs. He plugged an ear against the rush hour traffic. “He hasn’t called you?”

“I got a text a little over two weeks ago from an unlisted cell number, basically telling me he was alive, but aside from that – nothing.”

Steve felt a little warm. He knew he shouldn’t feel flattered and giddy that Tony kept in better contact with _him_ than with his closest friend ever, but he still did. He resisted the smile tugging at his lips.

“Um, yeah, he’s fine – called me three days ago, didn’t tell me where he was obviously, but unless something’s happened in the last two days or so then he should be just fine.”

He heard a grumbly growl over the honking horns and taxi cab engines. “I swear, he does this just to get on my nerves. Does he sound…okay, at least?

Three days ago, he and Tony had argued and laughed for an hour about movies and scenery (a sly way of letting Steve know he was currently hiding somewhere in the Midwest) and he’d sounded well enough. Steve didn’t really believe that, though – _no one_ would be feeling okay when hunted by the number of people Tony had tailing him. He had to be scared, and paranoid, and jumpy as hell. And alone, on top of it all.

But Tony was a great compartmentalizer, so at least the first few layers down, he was handling it all very well.

“Yeah, he sounded okay. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop hating the idea of him out there on his own like that.”

Bruce sighed. “I know. If there was just a way to track him, or get him to tell me where he is – ugh. But that’d be too dangerous for him, I know. Can’t help but wonder if this is what he felt like when I left for India.”

Steve snorted. “Not sure the threat of death was quite the same caliber.”

“Good point. I…I miss him, though.”

Steve had started walking down the street a little away from the bridal store – not too far, just enough to ease the jittery energy thrumming up his legs. He pursed his lips.

“I mean, if anything were to happen – if he ever got in trouble and needed help, I’d get my coworkers to help me track him down. They like To– like him, they’d help me without telling – without causing _more_ trouble for him. I’ll do everything I can to keep him safe.”

Bruce snorted. “Right, your _coworkers._ Still baffled by that one. How have you been doing by the way? I heard from our friend that you’re getting married.”

His stomach twisted, but he smiled. “Yeah, I am! Sharon’s wonderful, I’m really grateful for her. I – ” He swallowed, and allowed a brief moment of honesty. “I keep having to convince myself not to back out as it gets closer. I love her, but I keep – does that make sense?”

There was a knowing silence over the phone, and he remembered how perceptive Bruce had always been. It wasn’t in the same way Sam was perceptive, but he still got the impression that Bruce was reading him like an open book, even over the phone.

Then he spoke, tone soft and a little bit gentle. “It’s probably just cold feet, Steve. Everyone gets it. After the ceremony’s over you’ll be the happiest man in the world.”

He nodded, frowning hard at the cracks in the sidewalk. “Yeah, that’s probably what it is. This stuff is…stressful. But hey, if you’re in town when my wedding goes down, you should come Bruce.”

A chuckle, warm and deep. “I will, Steve.”

He smiled, then looked back at the store windows. “Thanks. I’d better get doing now though, I’ve gotta pick out a tux.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. Well listen Steve, if you hear anything new, can you let me know please?”

Steve nodded. “Of course, Bruce.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you later?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I’ll see you. ‘Bye.”

He listened to the click as the phone disconnected, then pulled it from his ear. His throat felt heavy. Car horns blared and he knew he had to get back into that store. But he _really_ wished Tony would call him.

He sighed, the sound losing itself in traffic, and turned to frown at the entrance. He wanted to _see_ Tony, not just call him. He wanted to see him without the need for an emergency, or without Tony being in danger of dying or worse.

And it hit him then that if Tony was safe, all Steve would get out of him for the next fifty years or so was weekly calls from temporary cell phones letting Steve know that yes, he was still hidden and in one piece and no, he hadn’t been murdered in some nameless motel room in the Midwest.

(Yet, anyway.)

A chill crawled down Steve’s back despite the heat. He shook his head and refused to think about that.

He pocketed his phone and hailed a taxi, sending out a silent apology to that patient store associate whose time he’d so thoroughly wasted. He could find a tux next week. None of the ones in that store had fit right.

***

“Okay what about this, how’s this?”

Steve looked up, eying Tony’s dashing blue-accented grey suit and uncharacteristically uncertain expression. He looked back down at his untied laces.

“Lose he overcoat – it’s movie night. Coulson’s involved, so it’ll be a posh one, but you’ll be fine without the coat.”

He heard Tony’s small, pouting “ _hmph,_ ” but then the rustling of fabric signaled that Tony had divested himself of the beautiful grey coat. It was a shame really, Steve thought as he tied his other loafer. He should take Tony to more fancy outings. With his wild hair and mischievous eyes, he seemed as at home in formal suit-and-tie clothing as he did in ratty Metallica T-shirts, forever defying the concept of a middle ground.

His phone buzzed – Natasha telling him to get their asses down there. After weighing up the view and impressive movie selection, they’d chosen Coulson’s highrise condo; Coulson had a thing for classic films. He thumbed back a quick response, then straightened to his full height.

Tony stood in front of Steve’s shabby bathroom mirror, fingers carding through thick hair and eyes frowning at his reflection. He was obviously anxious about tonight, and for a moment Steve felt bad about telling him so far in advance, giving Tony ample opportunity to stew in self-doubt. As awful it had been in the moment, Steve could now spot the wisdom in Tony’s fake-emergency Bruce meet-and-greet: Steve hadn’t had the chance to get worked up before Bruce was standing right in front of him.

But spontaneity was what Tony did. Proper prior planning, for better or worse, was what Steve did.

“They’re gonna love me, aren’t they?”

Steve blinked, and met Tony’s cocky brown eyes in the mirror. A quick laugh bubbled up and out of his throat, and he reached forward to snake his arms around Tony from behind. He kissed his neck, breathed in the scent of him. “Yeah. They will.”

In the car, Steve went over the Rules. Don’t touch or otherwise flirt with Natasha if you’ve forged a fondness for your balls, and would mourn their sudden loss. Don’t come up behind Clint without loudly and clearly announcing yourself. Try to stay on Coulson’s good side at all costs, or he might break out the Taser. Stuff like that.

“Jesus, why are all your friends so violent? I thought exercise was supposed to mellow people out.”

Oh, and there was that – after much anxious blustering, Steve had finally told Tony that he was a personal trainer, and that his work friends were also personal trainers. It was physically believable, considering the bulk of time he and the other agents spent in the gym. He’s briefed Natasha and Clint on his bluff, and they’d relayed the word to Coulson. They were expected to keep up the charade as they would in any mission.

Steve _hadn’t_ told Tony that Sam would be there – he’d invited him a couple days ago, seeking common ground between all the powerful personalities soon to be occupying the same enclosed space. Clint’s message made it clear that Sam was at Coulson’s now, relaying a whole different set of Rules. The text had read, _I can’t HAND him things? The fuck?_

He kept his eyes on the road. “Well, I’m not 100% sure about Coulson, but Clint has a lot of background in martial arts, and that’s what Natasha teaches – she’s a black belt in every fighting style I’ve heard of.”

Tony sniggered. “And she chose to _teach_ with skills like that? Pff – she could – do anything she wanted.”

He shrugged. “We tell her that, but – she seems satisfied with what she does. She has the patience for it.”

Tony looked sideways at him. “ _Patience,_ but she’ll castrate me?”

Steve chuckled. “Don’t confuse patience with kindness.”

Tony seemed to brush that off, and then zoned in on the next line of interrogation. This was Tony’s usual (and healthiest) method of coping with stress – curiosity. “And why – I mean, if you don’t mind me asking – why doesn’t Clint like to be snuck up on?”

Steve’s eyes flitted over to him before returning to the darkening highway. “Clint was raised by circus people.” That was true. Tony laughed. “What, it’s true, I swear to God! He spent most of his childhood in some circus, in one of the acts. And he doesn’t talk about it much, but you can imagine how shady that was.”

Tony quieted instantly. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Steve was pretty sure that tick had actually developed during a mission in Budapest, but he didn’t know the particulars. He was pretty sure Natasha had been there with him. “The only two indicators of his weird upbringing are that peeve, and his scary aim. _Don’t_ challenge him to darts. You will lose.”

Tony laughed, and a muscle deep in Steve’s stomach unfurled and loosened. They pulled into a spot in the winding, well-lit garage deep in the bowels of the building. Next to him, Tony vibrated with so much nervous energy you’d think the elevator was fit to turn into the Tower of Terror any second. Steve reached out and grabbed Tony’s hand, hoping to transfer some warmth to him. He was pleased enough when he got a flashy bravado smile in return for his tender, reassuring one. Tony was sincere in his transparency.

Behind them, the city lights twinkled like multicolored stars stories down. On the other side the steel elevator doors bore back their reflections – blonde and black, tall and short, calm and energetic – hands interlocked between them. Steve liked the idea of _this_ being the first thing his friends might see.

Then the reflection receded, giving way to Coulson’s obsidian-accented post-modern highrise. A small flurry of cajoling and teasing voices closed in on them, and Steve led them both out of the elevator.

Clint was leading Natasha and Coulson toward them, looking humorously off-balance in a purple shirt and jeans, despite his militaristic grace. His grin held as much mischief as ever though.

“Steve! The fuck took you so long, d’you stop for McDonald’s?”

He rolled his eyes and stepped into Clint’s hug. “Burger King.”

“You know Coulson’s got better eats, check your unnecessary spending, man.”

He chuckled. “Will do.”

Clint turned just as Tony stepped forward, anxiety buried so deeply under bravado that even Steve had trouble spotting it. He looked devastatingly handsome with that smirk.

“You must be Clint.”

Clint smiled, the picture of easy friendship – even though Steve knew better than to believe that. “And you must be the infamous Tony Edwards. Steve won’t shut up about you.”

Tony smirked as he shook the hand Clint offered. “What’s he told you, all bad I hope?”

Clint laughed. “Nah, there were some redeeming moments sprinkled in there.”

“Oh. Pff. Boring. Well, I heard I should challenge you to a game of darts? I’ll bet my life savings I can beat you.”

Clint smiled and crossed his arms. “How ‘bout five bucks, and I get to pick next month’s movie.”

Tony blinked. “You saying I get to pick _tonight’s_ movie? Because yes, I should totally pick the movie.”

Clint snorted. “That was the plan.”

“ _Fuck_ yes.”

Natasha chose this moment to roll her eyes and step around Clint with an uncharacteristically fond smile. She looked stunning, blazing red hair curled and body wrapped up in a short silver dress. Her makeup made her look softer, more approachable, and Steve briefly wondered what she was playing at.

“Hi Tony. I’m Natasha.”

The look on his boyfriend’s face was hilarious. Steve had warned him, under every possible circumstance, to _not_ flirt with Natasha. It seemed that resolve just got scattered to the wind. Tony held his hand out.

“Um, wow. Tony. Nice to meet you.”

It was like watching an 80’s horror film, where the dumb side character slowly opens the closet even when you’re _screaming at him not to._ Steve resisted the urge to cover his eyes, but just barely.

And to his complete, utter shock, Natasha responded with a composed smirk that did not exclusively promise death, and shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you too. Steve tells me you speak Russian?”

Tony blinked, cogs seeming to turn at half-speed in her presence. He opened his mouth, and let it hang there for a second. “What? Oh, yeah. Wait, are you a Natalia?”

She nodded, lips curling into a small smile. “Natalia Romanovna.” It occurred to Steve then, that this was probably the most emotion he'd seen Natasha portray in a single night since he'd met her. He supposed it was a testament to the effort she was expending to make his boyfriend feel comfortable, and he was half-grateful, half-amused at how it was turning out. Maybe Tony would've felt less off-kilter if she'd frowned at him more.

“Oh. Well _, priyatna paznakomitzya_.” Natasha snorted in what looked like genuine amusement.

“ _Ochein priyatna_.”

Tony tugged at his shirt collar. “Is it hot in here?”

Steve laughed, and put a hand on his back. “Come meet Phil, Tony.”

“My brain just melted, I can’t –” He was purposely loud enough so everyone in the room would hear, and Clint barked a laugh. 

Then Coulson was in front of them. He smiled at Tony placidly, sharp suit and tie in place as always. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Edwards.”

Tony’s face shined with equal parts amusement at Coulson’s formality and leftover confusion from Natasha’s – well, _Natashaness_. “Pleasure’s all mine. So, what’re the ground rules here? I heard you’ll tase me if I misbehave.”

Clint came up on the side of Tony that Steve was not occupying, leaning in with a grin. “Tip: he doesn’t like feet on his couch.”

Natasha stepped around to Coulson’s left, arms crossed. “He’ll have a fit if you sit on the kitchen counters.”

Steve smiled. “And don’t mess up the entertainment center.” He wrapped his arm around Tony’s waist, felt the heat of him. “His movie organizational system has not been puzzled out by any of us, and we’re pretty sharp.”

Tony perked up. “That sounds like a challenge I’m about to win. Anything else I need to know? I don’t want this night to end in blood. Especially if it’s mine.”

Steve saw when Coulson’s rigid politeness gave way to something the slightest bit more indulgent. “I’ll give you a sixty second warning before I power up the Taser.”

Tony laughed. “Square deal.”

Steve frowned. “Hey, where’s Maria? I thought you invited her.”

Clint shrugged. “She’s wrapped up in something.” Translation: she was on a top-secret mission, or just didn’t want to hang out with them. Both sounded equally plausible. “But there is someone else here.”

That someone else entered, and Tony’s eyes popped.

“Holy shit, Sam! What’re you doing here?”

Sam smiled, stepping into Tony’s eager hug. “Just wanted to get out for the night. Tired of only seeing ya’ll at the VA.”

Tony glared blankly at him. “I invited you to come in for coffee like two days ago. You just don’t like me, huh?”

Sam held his hands up in surrender, visibly fighting a smile. “Okay, I remember that, but you gotta admit this’ll be more fun.”

Tony put a warm hand on his shoulder. “I understand, and I forgive you.”

Steve watched as Sam’s cheeks lost their Tug-Of-War and stretched into a wide grin. “Hah. Thanks for that, Tony.”

Dinner bustled by Steve like white water, a hurricane of motion and snappy comebacks and edible projectiles launched at impressive velocities (via Clint, most often toward Tony’s face). Clint and Tony got on even better than Steve could’ve hoped, and watching the tension ease from Tony’s shoulders every time Clint fed into his teasing made Steve smile. It was a little weird, being the _quiet one_ of the group, but Steve wasn’t sure he minded.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

Steve almost jumped, despite the softness of Sam’s voice – he’s been busy watching. Sam’s arms were crossed as they leaned shoulder to shoulder against Coulson’s polished kitchen counter.

“Yeah, it’s great. I was kind nervous.”

Sam laughed. “Oh I know. You callin’ me, panicking like a middle schooler going to his first dance kinda clued me in.”

Steve bumped his shoulder against Sam’s in light retaliation. “C’mon, you were nervous too or you wouldn’t have agreed to come.”

He followed Sam’s stare out into the living room, where Tony and Clint were knealing on the carpet arguing about Forrest Gump or Star Wars, the heated debate making Tony physically lean forward and Clint gesticulate wildly and yell about American Classic Films. Natasha butted in from the couch, helpfully commenting that if they were going the space route they may as well go with something newer that on one had seen yet, and Tony prattled off a response to her in Russian that Clint at least half-understood, because he gave a scandalized gasp and yelled, “ _you bite your tongue, heathen!_ ”

Sam’s voice broke through to the forefront again. “Yeah I guess I was a little nervous, but you have to be able to see _all_ of Tony, you know? Not just the PTSD patient, but also the adult who’s muddled through basic social interaction for the past twenty years despite that. We shouldn’t treat him like he’s made of glass.”

Steve frowned. He knew that, he did, but it was hard not to be protective, hard not to be concerned. It was different when you knew what often went on in his head, when, like Steve, he let you in past the armor. “That’s…a lot to ask.”

Sam shook his head firmly. “No it’s not. It’s trusting him. You gotta trust him to take care of himself, and to come to you when he needs help. You’re not his body guard, you’re his partner.”

Steve sighed, and nodded. “That makes sense.”

Sam laughed. “You sound pissed about that making sense.”

“I’m not, it’s just – he’s a complicated mind to navigate.”

Sam snorted. “Trust me, I know.”

He looked at him curiously. “Has he told you anything new, by the way, any new milestone?”

Sam gave an unimpressed look. “Doctor-patient confidentiality. If I’m being honest, though, not much you don’t already know. Still a work in progress.”

Steve nodded. “He seems happier now. Calmer.” It was true. Tony slept a little bit better now – more frequently and without so many nightmares peppering the nights he crashed. He was sure the added rest, so much more than his body was used to, was doing Tony wonders.

Sam smiled a little. “Yeah, I’m surprised by that actually. Typically, it gets worse before it gets better. Think of re-breaking an old bone in order for it to heal properly. Years-long cases of denial like Tony’s often come with buried and suppressed emotions. First admissions are usually…rough. To say the least.”

Steve considered that, then grinned with a shrug of his shoulders. “Well it looks like you’re just really good at your job, then.”

Sam shook his head, looking a little unsettled. “That’s not really how this kind of thing works, Steve. Every healing person runs on their own timeline, largely independent of the professional helping them out. There’s nothing I or anyone else could do, or say, that would make what happened to him any _better_. My job is to lead the brain to confront certain fears or memories with the right tools. I don’t wanna speculate, but – there’s probably something else, something that hasn’t yet been confronted. _That’s_ probably where all the suppressed emotion is hiding.”

Steve blinked. “Oh, that’s…pleasant.”

Sam snorted. “At least he’s on the right track. What’ll happen will happen, and we’ll have to meet it when it does. But for now – I’m not sure things could get better than this.”

As if to prove Sam’s point, Tony suddenly bounced up and sauntered over to meet them both, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist.

“You kids ready for some Interstellar magic?”

Steve pretended to look affronted. “I am older than you.”

Tony pouted, so Steve rolled his eyes and kissed the top of Tony’s head. “Yes, we are ready. What’s Interstellar about?”

Tony grinned. “I’ve heard it’s only the best movie ever made. Heartwarming, epic, and – best of all – scientifically accurate. C’mon wallflowers, time to be social with the rest of us!”

Laughing, they followed Tony into the living room, where Clint and Phil were bickering over the picture settings like a couple middle-aged dads and Natasha was stretched out on one end of the couch, fiddling with her phone. Sam took a quiet seat next to her, and she moved her head to rest on his lap without looking away from the screen. Tony pulled Steve down onto the other end of the couch with a soft smile, and Steve idly wondered if _this_ would end up being his own bizarre version of “slowing down.”

Complete with three sometimes-genial super assassins, an army psychologist, and his beautiful, messed up boyfriend. He could even see Bruce coming over for tea every weekend.

Matthew McConaughey investigated his daughter’s bookshelf gravity ghost and Tony’s head found Steve’s chest. He smiled at Anne Hathaway’s intelligent face while his arms tightened around the man in his arms. Clint leaned against Steve’s legs from his spot on the floor as Natasha munched on popcorn and Phil shushed Tony and Sam’s whispered argument over the sour punch straws. As the ship set off toward the rest of the universe, Steve figured that settling down to _this_ wouldn’t be bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Tony's reaction to Natasha made you mad or anything, please just remember that he was completely tongue-tied in IM2 when he first met her. I felt I should stay faithful to such a funny first meeting.
> 
> And thanks so much for all the comments, the response for the last chapter was insane! Let me know what you thought about this one too, if you have a minute :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um, I moved to my first real place, which is pretty cool - but that also meant that all the paperwork and insurance-contract-change-deposit-move-in-costs-sign-this-box hassle has kept me almost completely away from my computer. So I'm really sorry :( please don't be mad. I'll be a better updater.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much to all those who commented, kudosed, and bookmarked this work! You people make my world go round, it makes me so happy. Let me know what you think of this one!

It was a fullness – like he’d drank too much soda, at first. Then as the day crept and sped closer, the sensation sharpened, and it felt like an emptiness, stuffed tighter and tighter in his chest every minute. Like something was sitting on his lungs, or pumping up his stomach with some sour fluid.

It flared up within him like a pint of boiling rum when anyone said the _w_ word, or the _m_ word. It was always uttered with a giddy, confused congratulations by those who actually knew him, like they all thought the decision was flying at them from left field. And every time he smiled and said _thank you, we’re very excited to spend our lives with each other,_ he started to understand where that confusion might be coming from. He poured over flowers and music and catering and guest lists with this beautiful, wonderful woman at his side, and he felt panic choking him. It was like planning his own funeral.

And that was _so_ unfair – he was _excited_. But that word, the _m_ word, it conjured up the sound in Steve’s head of some heavy door closing, loudly, finally. Forevermore shutting Steve off from…whatever it was waiting for him on the other side. And that sounded a whole lot like death to him. He shook his head, frowning hard at the tarnished metal knob.

When Bucky answered the door, he looked confused and a little concerned. “Steve? Whatchya doin’ here?”

Steve tried to say something, but ended up just walking past Buck into his apartment, the smell of dust and beer filling his nose. Bucky followed, looking more than a little worried.

“Uh, Steve? Anybody home up there, man?”

He turned and looked at him. Swallowed. Shifted his eyes down to the carpet, and back up to his friend’s freaked-out, prompting eyes.

“Um. I think I’m getting cold feet.”

Bucky blinked. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky sniffed, frowning at him. “Well, what do you mean? What’s up?”

Steve shook his head, feeling that familiar panic close a cold hand around his throat. Thank god Buck hadn’t asked to clarify, hadn’t forced him to say the _m_ word.

“I’ve thought a lot about this, and Sharon is…great, and everything I could ask for in a life partner. It’s just – with the case I’m working at SHIELD, the timing…it couldn’t be worse. And. I’m so _stressed out_ , and the idea of slowing down _and_ handling a case like this at once, it’s – it’s impossible. I think…I wish I could just hold off on it. For just a little while longer.”

There was a pause, the silence so loud it seemed to crystalize. Bucky crossed his arms then, and his voice was hard as ice. “Steve. I wantchya to quit fuckin’ kidding yourself.”

Steve blinked. “Huh?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. “There’s no other _case like this_. It’s not about SHIELD’s workload, or the thrill, or the complexity of the assignment –” Bucky got up in his face, eyes blazing, “– It’s _about_ the fucking _person_ they’ve _assigned_ you track down.”

Steve had feet of space at his back, but he still felt like a trapped animal, like ice had been dumped down his shirt. “Buck, would you _fucking_ –”

Then his phone blared loudly from his pocket, too loud to ignore it and keep yelling, so he held up a hand and dug it out of his jeans.

He didn’t recognize the number, so it had to be Tony.

His breath threatened to leave him all at once, and he looked up to see Bucky rolling his eyes, looking more pissed off than he’d seen him in years, as he turned and left to the kitchen. Then Steve was alone with his ringing phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“ _Tony._ ” Something inside him released at that voice, staticky and tense though it was. “Hey. How are you doing?”

“Uh – fine, I’m fine, Steve. You should check your Amazon account though.”

“My – I don’t have an Amazon account?”

“Yeah, you do. Your username’s ‘Spangles’, and the answer to all your Forgot Your Password questions is ‘Tony’. Check your shopping cart when you get the chance. Anyway, how you been?”

He frowned, curiosity and concern making it hard to concentrate. “Tony. What the hell’s on this account?”

There was a huff of static over the line. “Steve. We’re not talking about this. Just check the account later. Kay?”

Steve found a cushy chair in the corner and lowered himself down on it. The relief he felt, the total lack of panic despite the strangeness of this conversation, almost made him feel sleepy. This was the most relaxed he’d been in _days._ He scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Okay, I’ll check it.”

“Good. Thanks, muscles. So what’s up? You sound off.”

He sighed. Leave it to Tony to know when something was on his mind, over the phone, after months of separation, when even during their relationship secrets had prevented them both from ever actually being _on._ Steve didn’t get it. But maybe Bruce had been onto something all that time ago – maybe even with the mysteries on all sides, Steve and Tony hadn’t really needed to know all that to know each other.

“It’s nothing Tony, I’m fine.”

He heard a snort over the receiver. “Uh-huh. So what happened?”

Steve took a deep breath, ready to _assure_ him that everything was _great_ , when –

“Steve, _please._ ”

Well, fuck. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. “I – fuck.”

“What is it?”

He ran a hand up through his hair. “I – uh. Should I marry Sharon?”

There was a pause.

“Um. What.”

“Should I marry her?”

The voice over the line turned cautious, experimental. “Why are you asking me?”

“I don’t know, I just – fuck. Never mind.”

“Steve, this is _so_ not the kinda thing you can say _never mind_ to. Where’s this coming from?”

He shifted in the chair, leather squeaking underneath him. “I dunno, I’ve just been feeling – nervous about it.”

“…Oh.” Was that _disappointment_? “Well that’s normal, Steve.”

He felt something building in his chest, like a volcano about to blow up. “No, it’s not, it’s _really not,_ and I’m getting the feeling that if I marry her, that’s _it._ I dunno. I’m not sure I’m ready yet.”

There was a pause. A sigh. Steve wished he could see the breath swell in and out of him in person.

“Steve…I’m really not the person you should be talking to about this.”

Steve blinked. “Why not? Everyone else seems to just get mad or get confused, and _you_ – ”

“– Because you _know_ what I’m gonna say! And my answer doesn’t even matter anyway.”

He stopped. What? “Huh?”

A sigh, angry this time. “Steve, this is not fair. You can’t just _ask_ me if you should dump your _fiancé_ and not expect it to drive me crazy.”

Something in his stomach flipped. “What’re you – what do you mean?”

“ _Ugh_ – Steve, you _know_ what I mean! You know exactly what I mean. You know what – we’re done here. This conversation’s over. Check your Amazon account. I gotta go.”

He stood, the panic bubbling up again. “No wait, Tony –”

“I’ll call you in a few days.” _Click._

“ _Ton–_ god _dammit.”_ He lowered his phone and rubbed at his eyes. How had that turned so quickly? “God _dammit._ ”

What the hell was Tony’s problem? That wasn’t the anger Bucky’d had, or the confusion Clint and Bruce had had. Steve had just asked his advice, and Tony had completely shut him down. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face a couple times. Tony hadn’t even responded emotionally to the question like everyone else had; he’d just hung up the phone. What the _hell._

Although – he supposed it wasn’t fair of him to ask, as Tony had said. His eyes dug holes into Buck’s carpet. Tony was on the run, alone, helpless, and he’d made it pretty fucking clear with that… _Amazon_ bullshit that something big was going down. And here was Steve, sulking in his best friend’s house, complaining about his _girl problems_.He frowned, guilt crashing down on him all at once. How could he have wasted Tony’s time, burdening him with something so comparatively petty? No wonder he’d hung up the phone. Tony had more than enough to deal with as it was.

The remorse didn’t stop the cold feeling he got every time he thought of Sharon’s name, though.

After taking a minute or two to sulk, Steve picked his phone back up and tapped his way to Amazon. He hit the _Forgot Your Password?_ button and it asked three questions.

_What is your mother’s maiden name?_

_What was the name of your childhood best friend?_

_What city were you born in?_

Steve frowned, then typed _Tony_ for all of them. A nervous laugh escaped him when he gained access. He tapped the shopping cart icon in the corner of the screen, a little number seven floating above it.

_CD          We Must Fight_ by The Pepper Pots

_Audio    Obediah_ by Sean Gilbert

_Home    STANE’S Moonshine Coasters_ by Name-N-Things

_Games  Missile Command_ by Atari

_Books    National Security (Jericho Quinn)_ by Marc Cameron

_Toys       Find It Travel the World_ by Find It Games

_Video    Afghanistan Unveiled_ by Hugh Thompson

“The fuck…” Steve scrolled back and forth through the items. The words “missile” and “national security” made his stomach roll.

He stood, previous anger forgotten, and walked to the kitchen where he could smell Ramen noodles cooking. “Hey Buck? Come look at this.”

Bucky turned from the stove and frowned at him. “ _What._ ”

He held his hands up. “I know you’re pissed, but look at this. Tony set me up an Amazon account and told me to check my shopping cart.” He handed his phone over to Buck, whose brows furrowed as he held it to his face.

“The hell. This a message?”

He nodded. “I think he’s trying to tell me about something he found in some company’s servers. He did something similar to AIM when we were still IDing him, except he left the info directly in SHIELD’s files. Now he can’t exactly do that, he’d have assassins tailing him before the night ended, so he must’ve gone to the one SHIELD agent he knew wouldn’t rat on him.”

Bucky frowned down at Steve’s phone. “What the _fuck_ , man.”

He snorted. “Yeah.”

Buck shook his head, scowling. The yellow florescents overhead cast dark circles around his eyes. “Okay, well obviously we’ve got some missile in Afghanistan…Taliban got their hands on it maybe?”

Steve nodded. “That’d explain the ‘national security’ part.”

“And the ‘find it’ too – Taliban’s probably hiding out in caves somewhere, that’ll be hard for you guys to track down.”

He had a bad feeling about this. “I’ll inform Natasha tomorrow morning, and we’ll prepare an alibi of sorts.” He looked at his shoes. “Can’t exactly tell Fury my hacker ex-boyfriend let me know about this shit.”

Bucky handed his phone back, pursing his lips. “Better make it a good one.”

He pocketed it, hesitated, then sighed. “You wanna… talk about –?”

Buck held up his hand. “Nope.”

Steve frowned, his stomach turning to stone. “Right.”

He left after some cheap, cardboard Ramen and small talk that resolutely had nothing to do with Bucky’s sudden blowup. He climbed into his car, dreading and resigned to how the rest of his night was going to end up after he parked in the little space he had reserved with a four-digit number.

“What is it, sweetie?” she’d say, eyebrows furrowing in the middle. He’d look up, after suddenly realizing he’d spent too long staring at the same spot on the floor.

“Huh?” he’d say, and she’d smile at him, a slight, patient curve of pretty lips.

“You seem…like there’s something wrong. Was work okay?”

And then he’d frown for a second, because work was the _furthest_ thing from okay, because aside from the Chinese terrorist threatening to topple the American government and the Asgardian alien _gods_ threatening to upend humanity’s entire concept of _just_ how important they were in the divine scheme of things, he and Natasha were still assigned to assassinate Tony Stark, secret old flame and SHIELD hacker extraordinaire, who had, just today, called him to chat and tip him off about an _actual_ enemy of the state. Natasha knew about Tony now, had known since the night Tony got the hell out of Dodge, and together they avoided any actual progress and decidedly _never_ talked about it. And now he’d have to find a way to let her know about the Missile Problem without tripping Fury’s laundry list of radars. Work was _never_. _Okay_.

He’d slip his hand over her much smaller one and fit their fingers together, the diamond ring pressing uncomfortably against the inside of Steve’s pointer finger. “Yeah, honey, work was fine. I guess I’m just a little tired.”

She would look at him intently then, knowing or compassionate, Steve wouldn’t be sure which exactly. He’d be too fixated on the shiny, dark brown roots peaking under blonde, crowning her forehead. He’d want to look away.

Then she’d pat his hand, her jeweled one still covered, and release him from that piercing gaze. She’d ask him about dinner, he’d smile, and he’d end up making the pasta while she cooked the peas.

***

“We should go out.”

Steve looked over, brown eyes piercing into him. The blue glow of the TV screen lit on them just the right way to make them look soft, vibrant. Those eyes still made his stomach do happy flips, after all these months together.

“What?”

Tony smirked at him. “Go out. Like, a date.”

A slow smile curled at the corners of Steve’s lips. “We do that all the time, Tony.”

They did. Just last week they’d gone to a Yankees game, which had freaked out and amused Tony to no end. According to Tony, Californians had no souls, so he’d never seen a group of people get so violently worked up over some numbers on a scoreboard. This had just gotten Steve all the more violently worked up, but what the hell. The hot dogs had been great, and the post-game sex had been mind-blowing.

Tony waved his hand in a _tohellwithwhateveryoujustsaid_ gesture. “Your birthday’s coming up. You got plans?”

He shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

Tony straightened on the couch. “Well, I vote we get up, get pretty – which should be easy for you, just kinda stand there – and go out to this place. You know. For your birthday. I’ve got it all worked out already.”

Steve blinked. “When?”

Tony pulled his phone out for half an instant before flashing him one of those blinding smiles, mischievous and pleased and full of white teeth that glowed in the dim living room. “How ‘bout tomorrow?”

He shook his head. _Only this man…_ “Have you been planning something? Something you, maybe, forgot to tell me about until just now?”

Tony’s eyes went theatrically wide. “What? No! Maybe I’m just spontaneous – ever think about that, Captain Uptight?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tony smirked deviously at him. “Hey, get off my back. I’m doing something nice for you, you’ll like it. Scout’s honor.”

Steve couldn’t stop it. He smiled and reached forward, pulling Tony to his side of the couch and flush against him. Tony gave a surprised squeak before relaxing completely against Steve’s side, staring up at him with those eyes.

_I love you,_ he wanted to say, but never would, because Tony didn’t love him back, and he didn’t want to scare him off, because he was doing so well at staying open and honest with him and he never wanted that to change. Instead he leaned down and covered Tony’s mouth with his own. Brown eyes slipped closed and Steve felt him groan softly against his lips, and heat melted down through his whole body. Time seemed to slow down, stop altogether, take on a sparkling sort of crystallization. This happened with Tony a lot – where things narrowed and focused until there was only the two of them, only a single infinite moment.

The next day, they weaved in and out of each other as they got ready to go…wherever it was Tony’d planned for them to go. He watched as his boyfriend donned a stunning blue-grey suit and tie, and used that to gage how he apparently ought to be dressing to this shindig. Occasionally Tony would look over and smile at him with this filthy gaze, but Steve did his best to stay focused. They had somewhere to be, after all.

“I’m guessing you’re driving?” Tony looked up, and his entire look nearly knocked the wind out of him. The color of the suit, the cut and fit, the artful messiness of his hair and the way it framed his eyes – Steve was a goner.

“Got that right, muscles. You’re looking dapper by the way.”

He choked on his own laugh. He smiled and stepped up into Tony’s space, wrapping an arm around him. Their noses almost touched. “You look gorgeous, Tony.”

The brunette’s lips quirked up playfully. Tony leaned up until his body was flush and warm and electric against Steve’s, their lips a millimeter apart. Steve felt his brain turn to mush.

“Will we be late to…whatever this is if we take the time to put all our clothes _back_ on?”

Tony laughed, the sound like bells in Steve’s ears. He finally closed that last thread of distance and pressed his lips warmly against Steve’s, and arms snaked tightly around his waist. Somewhere in all the push and pull and heat and tongue, Tony pulled back, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. His voice came out a little breathless. “Yes, we’ll be late. Unfortunately. Jesus.”

Steve laughed, doing his best to bring some blood flow back up to his brain. He took Tony’s hand and interlocked their fingers. The warmth, the size of his palm, the callouses and nicks he’d feel when he’d brush his thumb lightly along the fingers – something as ordinary as _holding hands_ shouldn’t have made Steve want to grin like an idiot, but. Well. Here he was.

He let Tony pull him along, out the door, into the car, down the highway, to this mystery destination which turned out to be an _art museum_ except it was open _only to them_ for the next two hours because apparently Tony knew a friend who knew a friend (which seemed to happen very often, now that Steve thought of it). So the two of them held hands, Steve talked excitedly about piece after piece (Tony smiling at him fondly all the while), and at one point they even played hide and go seek (which Tony was surprisingly brilliant at – and Steve was a SHIELD agent forChristsake). They laughed and kissed and went out for burgers and chocolate shakes afterward. Every time Tony smiled at him, Steve could feel the weight of those words on his tongue

( _I love you I love you I love you I love you_ )

and had to bite it to keep them from slipping out. He wanted to keep Tony here, just like this, with him forever. He couldn’t imagine it with anyone else.

***

It was extravagant. Blues and reds and yellow petals scattering every surface, white ribbons, beautiful white wrought iron gates and pillars chairs and birds were singing softly as if to celebrate the event. He stood across from her on the tall gazebo, holding her hand. She had a white fishnet veil over her face which only made her smile look more vibrant, more polished.

The preacher spoke of _holy matrimony_ and _until death do you part_ and _we are gathered here today to celebrate_ and each syllable drummed against Steve’s heart like a symbol, the vibrations rolling up his body in waves. The sunlight came in and caught the edge of her face, porcelain in its perfection and clarity. She looked so beautiful. He had to keep reminding himself not to lock his knees.

Tony had called him a week after their fight, and he’d given Steve his blessing. He told Steve that he prayed they would be happy together forever. And now he was here, her smile lighting him up. He held her hand in his, the preacher’s words washing over him, and it was hard to believe this moment had arrived already.

(He wondered if Tony would call during the reception; he hoped he would.)

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

It hit with the finality of a flat-lining heart monitor. He beamed, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her for all he was worth. The crowd cheered and applauded, Sharon smiled against his lips, and he felt his stomach erupt in a wriggling cloud of butterflies.

He walked down the aisle of smiling faces, hand in hand with his new wife, and thought to himself, _here’s to the future._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there everybody! Sorry about the wait, I had finals and some unexpected health issues to deal with. But things are heating up now! Warnings include Steve being deluded. Read and enjoy <3

Steve felt his body creak like his joints needed oil. His feet pulsed with each step down the thin carpeted hall leading to Tony’s door, like each sole had its own heartbeat. Usually Steve was quite a sturdy fella, but the mission this morning had been filled with over two hours of chasing this target as he hid and evaded. The bastard had been _fast._

He hesitated in front of Tony’s door for a moment when he heard sounds from the other side. He pressed his ear against the thin wood.

Yup, that – that was definitely a crash. A loud one. Steve’s heart thumpthumpthumped into high gear. He wriggled the door knob. Locked.

“Tony?” He kept his voice loud and resonant, to alert whoever the fuck was in Tony’s apartment that he’d be coming in _right now._

But the crashing didn’t stop. Steve rapped his knuckles against the door, and the sound bounced down the hallway. “ _Tony?”_

Still no change. A thousand scenarios flashed across Steve’s eyes – Tony, bleeding out on his kitchen floor, a pocket knife jammed between his ribs. Tony, curled up in the corner of his bedroom, hands raised against the blow of some hulking figure. Tony, fists up and trying to defend himself as punch after punch rained down just like they did when he was a kid –

Steve swallowed, his training taking over. He had to save him. He took a step back and batter-rammed the apartment door with a kick, the hinges screaming as the chain lock snapped and the knob banged against the opposite wall. But Steve didn’t even notice, just scanned for the threat with his fists raised, ready for –

And all that he saw was Tony blinking widely at him, standing, alone, amidst a pile of mechanical junk. Steve looked the living room frantically, looking for –

“What the _fuck,_ Steve?”

Blazing brown eyes glared up at him as Tony got up in his face. Steve lowered his hands instantly, staring dumbly at his pissed off boyfriend, who was _not_ in danger. Shit.

“What the _fuck_ was that? You know how _personally_ my landlord is gonna take this?” Tony stretched a wild arm out toward the door, not breaking eye contact. “This shit costs money, Steve, _why did you do that_?”

Steve’s cheeks heated up even as his tone got defensive and tight. “I – I heard a crash!”

Tony stared. “ _What?_ ”

“A crash, I heard a crash! I thought there was an altercation! You didn’t answer your door when I knocked.”

A disoriented smile twisted across Tony’s face like he’d just been hit over the head with something heavy. The hot anger never left his eyes. “An alter – _Steve,_ my door’s locked, and I’m on the second floor! What, you think they fucking _bungeed_ up through my window?”

His target today had scaled four stories without slowing down. Those images of Tony, bleeding and frightened and curled up, flashed across his eyes again. Steve scowled. “I don’t care! I heard crashing, you didn’t answer your door, and I wasn’t going to risk your safety just to keep from pissing off your goddamn landlord!”

“ _I wasn’t in danger,_ you fucking _Neanderthal –_ ”

“I’m your boyfriend and it’s my job to make sure –”

“ _It’s your job_ to fucking _knock –”_

“ _No –_ it’s my job to keep you safe and I refuse to apologize for that –”

“You are _definitely_ apologizing for _breaking my door!_ ”

Steve glared at him. “You know what? You are being so one-sided right now.”

Tony’s mouth fell open. “ _What?_ Says the guy who just _broke_ into my _home_ and won’t say _sorry?_ ”

“Yes, you are! I only had your best interests at –”

Steve’s eyes popped with outrage when he realized Tony’d reached up and physically covered his mouth. _What the_ hell _you motherfucking –_

“No – _shh –_ nope, you listen. You broke my property, entered my home without permission – _hush –_ I don’t care what your intentions are or were, you’re in the wrong here, _legally_ in the wrong. _Also,_ while we’re here and I’m pissed at you anyway, no more touching my stuff and trying to organize it when you think I won’t notice or that I’m not paying attention, because I do, and I am, and I can never find anything after you leave and it’s driving me –”

Steve ripped the palm from his mouth and pushed Tony – gently – back a step. “Your apartment’s a mess, whatdyou expect me to –”

“You know, you should just not talk, because it’s time for me to talk right now.” Tony looked livid. “Now, Mr. Invasive Arrogance, I _expect_ you not to touch my things when I ask you not to touch my things, it’s really uncomplicated –”

“– Are you kidding me, I am _not_ the arrogant one here –”

“– Steve you need to just _get_ off your fucking high horse already and stop helping where help isn’t needed –”

Steve shook his head. “I can’t _do_ that!”

“You better start learning quick then, because this shit’s gotta stop –”

“No Tony, I seriously can’t –”

“Why the _fuck_ _not_!”

“ _Because I LOVE YOU!_ ”

Tony stopped an inch from his face, rebuttal dead on his lips and eyes frozen. “W-what?”

Steve slowly realized what he’s just said, and cold crept down his spine. _Shitshitshit oh god –_

“I – um. I love you.”

Tony stared up at him, and Steve felt his heart speed up for a whole different reason. He’d fucked up everything now, oh god what if Tony left him –

He watched Tony swallow. His eyes bore holes into Steve and this was the last time he’d ever see those perfect eyes oh _fuck –_

His mouth opened. _This is it this is it this is –_

“I love you too, Steve.”

Everything froze. What did – surely Tony didn’t mean –

“What?” It came out more incredulous than Steve had intended. He hadn’t really _intended_ to say that at all.

Tony’s face – the giant, expressive eyes and the pink mouth and the sweetly sloping nose and _fuck_ he was gorgeous – crystalized before Steve, like he was watching him on a television. There was just _no way_ he’d meant what he’d said, Steve must’ve heard him wrong –

“I…I love you to, I said.”

No way. Steve took half a step forward. “ _Really?_ ”

Tony’s lips curled up and _oh,_ that was a smirk with _amused_ and _fond_ written in the corners of his mouth. “Yes, baby. Really.”

“I –” Another step closer, Steve’s hand itching and aching to touch. “Wow.”

There was a flash of teeth when Tony grinned, bright and delighted. “ _Wow?_ You really that surprised, Steve?”

“Um, yes?” His hand finally closed that distance, wrapping warmly around Tony’s smaller one and giving it an eager little squeeze. Suddenly something eased, a deep-rooted fear laid to rest and the future swung wide open like that fucking door at his back. He squeezed Tony’s hand, and why couldn’t he stop smiling? “I thought you’d go running for the hills when I told you.”

Tony laughed, leaning into him. He felt solid. “Adonis’s sexy older brother tells me he loves me and you think I’m gonna book it? You obviously weren’t listening to the part where I said I was a certified genius.”

Steve stared down at him, mouth open to respond, but a laugh poured past his lips instead, deep and happy. Tony smiled and laughed too, and soon they couldn’t stop, just leaned against each other laughing until their sides ached and tears leaked from their eyes. Steve sucked in air, more winded than he’d been during his SHIELD chase that morning or during that neighborhood dog run when he and Buck were kids.

He wiped his eyes and grinned down at Tony. His cheeks hurt. I’m sorry about the door. I’ll pay to have it fixed.”

Tony smiled brighter and leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder. His voice came out breathless. “You better, hot stuff. You’re forgiven though. Only because I love you.”

Steve grinned wider. “Say it again.”

Tony laughed, tilting his head up so Steve caught his eyes. “I love you, Steve Rogers. Now you wanna help me clean up this mess? I was in the middle of reorganizing this shit before I was so rudely interrupted.”

“I’d like that, baby.”

Tony didn’t leave his arms for another ten, perfect minutes.

***

The moment he walked past the threshold, he knew something was wrong.

The apartment was spotless and ordered, as always. Nothing amiss there. It was just a feeling. A suspicion that grew into something worse when he rounded the corner and saw Sharon sitting calmly at the kitchen table.

He played dumb. “Hey, sweetie. How was your day?”

She looked up at him like she was trying hard to smile and couldn’t quite manage it. “Steve, could you have a seat please?”

His stomach dropped the rest of the way down to the floor. “What – what’s wrong, honey?”

She shook her head. “Please, just – sit down. I need to talk to you.”

His breath paused, suspended in his lungs with nowhere to go. He pulled out a chair across from her, careful not to let the legs scrape against the tile.

He folded his hands in his lap. He was scared to speak first, so he waited for her to start.

“Steve, I –” She let out a breath and sagged in her chair. Her voice was so _composed,_ so level. “I think we should get a divorce.”

He had known it was coming, but he still wanted to double over like he’d been punched. He forced breath out of his malfunctioning lungs. “What? Why?”

He saw her head tilt and he looked at her. Her eyes had that knowing look that he’d seen a million times, the look that told him she saw past all his _I’m fine’_ s and _Just tired’_ s and _I had a long day at work’_ s and was deliberately keeping silent about it for God knows what reason.

“Steve, I…we never should have done this. You aren’t – _happy,_ with me.”

“Of course I’m happy with you Sharon, what are you even –”

She shook her head, and her eyes were understanding and compassionate and he had no clue _how_ she wasn’t _losing it_ right now. “No, Steve, you’re not. And we both know it. This isn’t how being married is supposed to feel.”

Steve groaned. “Sharon, every marriage is different, sure we’ve had our ups and downs, but we can –”

“– No, we haven’t. We haven’t had a single fight, Steve. It’s not normal.”

He looked sideways at her. “Wait, you wanna divorce me because we don’t _fight_ enough?”

She didn’t lose that expression. “We don’t fight because you aren’t very invested in this relationship. Our marriage is your way of – coping, I think, with something else.”

Steve stared at his hands, feeling like he’d just been turned to stone. He didn’t know what to do, or what to say. Her words kept coming, the gentlest of onslaughts.

“Steve, you need to be honest with yourself. You’re so…tragically blind, that if I didn’t sit you down tonight you might have never plucked up the self-awareness to divorce me and put me out of my misery. I love you, but I am also fully aware that you’re in love with someone else.”

His head shot up, and she was staring at him hard. Her small hands clung to the edge of the table like it was keeping her from floating away.

“I – I’m not in –”

“ _Steve._ Please don’t insult my intelligence, or yours. This is ridiculous.”

He frowned and shook his head, feeling angry then. “No, you don’t understand, I’m not in love with him!”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as his brain caught up to what had just come out of his mouth. What the fuck – he’d sworn he wasn’t – but the moment she’d said _love_ he’d thought of only one face, and it wasn’t hers.

Sharon sighed, a deep, sad thing, and he suddenly felt horrible for what he’d been putting this wonderful woman through without realizing it. “Yes, you are. You’ve been in love with him since I met you.”

He swallowed, wanting desperately to deny it, but he couldn’t get the words out.

“You let this go too far, Steve. I thought that maybe, with time, that…feeling I got, like I had only ninety percent of your attention – I thought maybe that would go away. And then we planned an entire wedding. And we exchanged our vows, and that feeling _still_ didn’t go away.” Her voice shook – just the tiniest quake, almost unnoticeable – for the first time, and Steve felt like the cruelest person on Earth. “We faced each other while that priest married us, and even _then_ I knew I didn’t have all of your attention. Steve…do you know what that feels like?”

He looked at her then – how could he not? Her tortured eyes slammed into his, accusing and forgiving all in one go, and they squeezed tight around Steve’s throat. He wished she’d start screaming at him, start throwing things. It would be so much _easier_ , he was sure, if she wasn’t so understanding.

She sniffed, and his heart broke into pieces.

“It’s time to face what you – what _we –_ should have faced a long time ago. We can’t have a functional relationship, let alone a happy marriage, when one of us wants to be with someone else. It just won’t work. We need to get a divorce.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Even as his mind screamed _nonono,_ there was a small, stretching part of him the peaked up eagerly. He hated himself for that part, for how undeniably _there_ it was, and how he’d pretended it didn’t exist anyway and gotten some poor woman involved. No one deserved to be treated like that – he could imagine, now, a look in his own eye that must have shouted _you’re the runner up_ every time he smiled at her. How could he have been so oblivious?

He pried his eyes open, studying the grain of the wooden table as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Then he looked up at her. He hoped (and knew there was no way) that for once, his eyes showed that she had his full attention. He hoped she knew how sorry he was.

“Okay, Sharon.”

She took a deep breath, and nodded twice. “Alright. We’ll start the paperwork tomorrow. How would you like to split our assets?”

He wanted to cry. “ _Sharon –_ ” He leaned forward, staring at her now. “Sharon, I don’t care about the apartment. You can take it, I just –” He scrubbed a hand down his face, blinking hard. “I’m _so sorry._ Sharon, _I am so sorry._ ”

Her eyes were a little bright, and he wished he had the right to wrap his arms around her, to comfort her. He knew he’d lost that privilege, though, when he’d slowly torn her heart to shreds, sinew by sinew. How had she endured his touch for this long, even?

Suddenly, she shook her head. “Steve, I don’t want you to feel sorry. I really don’t. I just – I want you to be honest with yourself, from now on. I care about you, and I want you to be happy. And as long as you stay in touch with yourself, I think you’ll be off to a good start.”

He stared at her. “How – my _god_.”

She frowned. “What?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met a stronger, more selfless person than the one sitting across from me right now.”

This seemed to surprise a slow smile out of her, and a little bit of warmth touched her eyes. “Nursing brings it out.”

He snorted, a small, pitiful thing. “You’re too good for me.”

She looked incredibly sad then, and he wanted to slap himself for putting that expression on her face. “No, but – thank you, for coming to your senses fairly quickly. As I said, we don’t really fight, now do we?”

Steve sighed, looking down. “No, I guess we don’t.”

There was a moment’s pause, where they both seemed to silently decide that talking about this anymore would be something akin to Chinese water torture. The gist had been covered. They were getting a divorce. They’d probably start the paperwork tomorrow, or at least this week. Sharon would take as much of their belongings as Steve could convince her to take, and Steve was – was in love with someone else. Always had been.

“I’m gonna take the couch the next few days until we get it all sorted, is that alright? Unless you’d prefer I get a hotel –”

She sat up straight, looking startled at the suggestion. “No, no, you can stay here. It’s your house too, you know.”

He nodded, and rose to his feet. She did the same, and he realized that she looked utterly exhausted. He felt his heart break again.

“Get some rest, Sharon. We’ll talk about this more in the morning.”

She nodded, and turned without another word toward their bedroom. He made his way to the couch.

They were getting a divorce. And he was in love with someone else.

***

Steve practically skipped into HQ the next morning with his report. He’d left Tony’s early this morning to catch up on paperwork. He could still smell Tony everywhere. The image of Tony smiling up at him when he said those words, the sound of his voice as his mouth had shaped and curved around them. _I. Love. You. Too._

Fury was absent when Steve pushed the door open. Good thing, too, seeing as the others took one look in his direction and started with the jeering (courtesy, mainly, of Clint; Natasha was more of a silent mocker, and if Coulson wanted to tease him about the love-dumb look on his face, Steve couldn’t tell).

“Oh shit, are you a father today, Agent?”

He rolled his eyes, but the effect was ruined by his splitting grin. “Shut up, Clint.” He folded into the chair next to Natasha, who turned slyly in his direction.

“So. What happened?”

Steve couldn’t stop smiling. “I told him I love him.”

She offered the smallest of eyebrow quirks in response. If Natasha came with subtitles, they would have read, _congratulations._

Clint leaned forward. “Wait, that’s it? I thought that was done, like, before we even met the guy.”

Steve shook his head. “Negative, I – thought he’d get scared off. So it happened last night.”

Coulson cocked his head slightly. “I can see why that would’ve been a concern…glad it worked out, at any rate.”

Steve felt a wave of affection crash over him. In all their varying ways, the three of them cared about this person he’d fallen in love with. For top-tier spies for an underground agency, his coworkers sure were great friends.

He’d just opened his mouth to suggest the date for another movie night when Fury crashed into the room, and all conversation stopped.

“Alright people, we’re running behind. Coulson, report.”

Professional, unemotional accounts of spilled blood and snapped bones followed one after the other. Steve gave the report of his target from the other day, Natasha updated Fury on their joint hacker problem (neither of them had made any headway), and the reports and exchanges started to blur into one another. He was eager to be back with Tony. Maybe he’d stop by that café on seventh first, get Tony a quality espresso –

His phone buzzed. The voices he’d faded into the background all quieted, and he got a facefull of Fury’s glare.

It buzzed again. Someone was calling him.

“Captain, do you find shutting that fuckin’ thing off?”

Steve looked down. “Yes, sir, sorry, sir.” He pressed the button on the side that would ignore the call.

“Now as I was saying before Rogers’ stupid ass interrupted me –”

It buzzed _again._ Oh shit, he was in for it.

“ _Captain!_ ” Fury looked ready to jump over the table and throttle him.

“My apologies, sir, I’m sorry –”

He pulled his phone out, ready to turn it off, when he saw the name flashing across the caller ID. His stomach dropped, because Tony knew not to call him during work. He looked up, meeting Fury’s eye easily now.

“I – have to take this, excuse me…”

“What the – _Rogers,_ put your fuckin’ phone away!”

Steve was already out of his seat with the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“ _Steve.”_

He went cold at Tony’s shaking voice, and he jogged the rest of the way out the door. “Tony – Tony what’s wrong, what is it?”

“ _I – um. There’s an emergency.”_

He felt like he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him. This didn’t sound like the Bruce-is-back-in-town kind of emergency. “Where are you, Tony?”

“ _Could you pick me up from the café?”_

“Malibu?”

“ _Yeah, I’ve still got some hours left on my shift but I gotta…gotta go.”_

Steve’s heart was hammering in his ears. There was no reason Tony should ever sound like that. His voice was shaken, terrified.

“Tony just stay where you are, alright? I’m leaving now to come get you.”

He ran through and out of the building without a word to Fury – he’d relay a message to him later. He scrambled into his car and peeled out of the lot at breakneck speed, and listened to his own hard pulse and too-quick breathing. For twenty agonizing minutes, he drove through the rain and weaved in and out of lunch rush traffic. Everything was grey and wet and he felt nauseous with anxiety.

Soon he was parked, a bit sloppily, in front of Malibu Point and running through the front door.

“Steve!”

Tony was by his side in an instant, uniform still on, his tanned skin way too pale and his eyes way too wide. Steve grabbed him by both shoulders, trying to assess him in the warm overhead lighting, but he felt Tony shaking lightly under his hands. What the hell was going on?

“Can we go back to your place?” Tony whispered it, and every alarm bell Steve possessed blared in his head.

He kept his tone soothing and low. “Of course we can, Tony. Come on.” He kept a hand on his arm and guided him out through the rain, loading him into the passenger seat and shutting his door for him. Tony seemed like he was in shock - anxiety gnawed viciously at his insides while the rain soaked through his shirt.

He climbed into the driver’s side, turning the heat on high and getting a good look at Tony. He was shaking badly now, and it looked like he was just a word or gesture away from completely losing it. Steve twisted and reached into the backseat to grab the thick hoodie he kept there, wrapping it tightly around Tony’s shoulders and zipping it up.

Then he waited.

It was a full thirty seconds before Tony opened his mouth. “Can you start driving?” His voice was shot, raspy.

Steve obeyed without a word, and started heading to his apartment.

The air got warmer and warmer, but Tony kept shaking in Steve’s peripheral. Steve sped as much as the traffic and rain would allow him until they reached the lot. Tony never spoke.

Steve turned the car off and hurried over to Tony’s side, grabbing both his arms and guiding him out of the car, through the hallway, and across the threshold of his apartment. The shaking had lessened a little – Steve hoped he’d sidestepped shock for now. He fixed a glass of water just in case, and then sat Tony down on the couch.

“There you go, baby, you’re okay. You thirsty?”

Tony shook his head. Steve set the glass down and sat next to him on the couch. He could hear the crackle of rain hitting the roof, and his heart thumping in his ears. He grabbed Tony’s cold hand in both his own.

“Tony?”

Brown eyes blinked at him. Tony swallowed. “Hey.”

“You with me?”

He nodded, and Steve squeezed his hand a little.

His voice came out whisper-soft, determined not to startle him. “Tony what happened?”

Tony looked down for a moment. “U-um. There’s someone…after me. I think.”

Steve’s training kicked into high gear, but it swam thickly through fear and concern so deep he wasn’t sure he could keep his voice even. “ _What?_ What do you mean?”

Tony’s mouth twisted down into a scowl and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Obediah Stane. He – he’s my godfather. Worse than my dad was, I mean seriously bad news – I’ve been keeping tabs on him, and I think I set something off in his systems. He traced my I.P. back through every proxy and back door I was using to hide my signature, I…he didn’t know I was here in New York, but he does now. He’s gonna come looking.”

Steve frowned. “Were – have you been hiding from him?”

Tony turned to look at him, terrified. “He’s the reason I left California, Steve. If he finds me, I’m dead.”

The cold part of himself that came to the forefront during missions said _let the bastard_ try _to even touch a hair on his head,_ but he pushed it aside and made sure it didn’t show on his face. Tony didn’t need that right now. His other hand reached out instinctively to touch, to comfort.

“That’s not going to happen, Tony, you’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Tony shook his head, his whole body starting to shudder again. “No, Steve, you don’t understand what he’s capable of, what he’ll do when he – oh _fuck_ …” Tony curled in on himself, his breath coming in pants.

Shit. Steve stood, nudging Tony gently to the floor and repositioning him until his head was between his knees. “Tony, you’re having a panic attack. Listen to my breathing. Try to breathe along with me.” He took deep, exaggerated breaths, pressing one of Tony’s hands on his chest so he could feel the lungs expand and contract. He felt every shudder that ripped through his boyfriend’s frame, every ragged breath, and waited anxiously as each one slowed down. He wondered for a split second if he should call Sam, but decided against it. This was a crisis. It was Steve’s job to handle crises.

The shaking hand on his chest moved to his shoulder. Tony frowned up at him blearily, and Steve moved quickly to lift him off the floor.

“Steve, you don’t – _fuck_ Steve, you’ve gotta get away from me. Before he kills you too, I’m not going to let anything happen to you –”

He shook his head. “Tony, I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you, and he’s not gonna do anything to _you_ , either.”

Those brown eyes widened and pooled, and Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen anything that hurt him more than this.

“Steve – he already _has._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who's left comments and kudos so far, ya'll are blowing me away and making me love writing this story even more than I already did! Let me know what you thought of this one :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys, I'm really sorry for the absence. Basically, you know the peaceful weird Sharon/Steve breakup? That happened to me. So I've been busy with finding a new apartment and restructuring RL. But I've been working on this, ever-so-slowly but surely. Please don't be too mad :(
> 
> Also for anyone who's interested, my sister and I made a Tony Stark AMV that we think is pretty damn awesome. Check it out if you want: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJyXYoYp7nI. Hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks so much for the patience everybody.

Steve stayed behind late at HQ in week that followed. He knew his presence would be painful to Sharon now and he didn’t want to hurt her more than he already had – even if lingering around the living room was like a paper cut compared to the shit he’d unintentionally dished out on her. Instead, when he wasn’t moving his crap into the ramshackle little one-bedroom he’d found and rented, he threw himself into work, taking on active missions when he could and slumping over mountains of research when he couldn’t. Anything to distract from – well. Anything to distract.

He sat in the spacious joint office he technically shared with Clint. It looked sort of like a large cubicle, with more modern workspace furniture and less existential depression. Usually neither of them worked in here long enough to get in each other’s way, so it was a good place to hide while he tried to avoid company. Steve didn’t want to answer all the questions he’d seen broadcasted on everyone’s faces when he’d stumbled in four days ago like the victim of a fucking house fire. He knew they were worried. But he wasn’t ready to say the words out loud.

_We’re getting a divorce because I’m still in love with Tony._

Fuck that.

He hadn’t told anyone. He’d been religiously avoiding Bucky’s calls, and even deflected a message or two from Bruce. But work was something he couldn’t avoid. He was doing his damnedest, though.

In the briefest moment of weakness, Steve had dug out his phone three days ago and dialed one of the numbers Tony’d given him, but it had rang six times and then clicked off. A stone had dropped deep in Steve’s stomach and he hadn’t tried again.

And so here he was. A collage of maps, photos and newspaper clippings covered the walls and the florescent overhead lighting gave everything a sterile yellow tint. Recognizing Steve’s distraction and general ineptitude with the technological, Fury had more or less given Natasha the full weight of their hacker assignment ( _ha!_ ). Steve had been assigned instead to Clint and Coulson’s god problem

(And, really, what the hell? What kind of organization did he work for where this shit was considered a three-person job?)

and he’d made some great headway so far. Their extra-dimensional visitors seemed to be derived directly from Norse mythology, and given recent weather anomalies (along with the decimated town in New Mexico), Steve was pretty sure a family feud was winding up toward a full-blown divine war.

As he shuffled through the graphs one more time, Steve blinked when it dawned on him that he’d sabotaged the two best relationships he’d ever had by _lying –_ back-to-back, too. It was like he hadn’t learned the first time around that people needed to be treated with honesty. Air huffed into his lungs and back out in one great _whoosh._ He licked his lips and focused on his notes.

(Tony probably would have gathered all the relevant info and connected the dots in half the time, but not everyone was a genius.)

It was obvious now that the cataclysm in New Mexico was nothing more than a small skirmish, a divine fistfight. The two probably didn’t even remember the minutia of their disagreement

(A cocky, beautiful, brilliant, broken genius.)

while SHIELD had clung to every detail, assuming them both to be threats to national and worldwide safety – and by nature of their incredible power, Steve supposed that wasn’t far off the mark. But he now had a track record of giving VIP members of SHIELD’s shit list the benefit of the doubt.

(Where was Tony anyway? Last time they’d talked, over two weeks ago, Tony had been hiding in the Rockies.)

Of the pair, the weather god Thor probably meant no harm to the human race. If he could be reached, summoned maybe, then there was a chance that SHIELD could convince the two of them to sort out their family differences elsewhere.

(It wasn’t like him to go this long without calling. Had he – and this thought bubbled a snorting laugh up his throat – left Steve alone in the hopes that he could be happier with Sharon?)

There were a number of Nordic pagan summoning rituals and no real way to see which might work beside trial and error. Steve felt silly – goth teenagers did this kinda shit in their basements. His job description covered threat of dismemberment, torture, murder (both of him and by him), but _supernatural world war_ hadn’t even been squeezed into a subordinate clause. The legal department was in for major restructuring as of last week.

(What if he hadn’t called because he _couldn’t_?)

He thought maybe he ought to rope in Clint or Coulson or _both_ to help him out with this folklore research. There might even be a department on the payroll to sift through this kinda crap. SHIELD was a bigger place than it looked from the top of the food chain.

(This couldn’t be some misguided attempt at helping Steve let go. He had gotten _married_ and still Tony had called every two or three days. This wasn’t normal.)

The list of potentially legitimate Nordic summoning rituals ( _god,_ how weird) was halfway down the page when Steve stopped, pen frozen above the next word.

It wasn’t normal. This was the longest he’d gone without hearing from Tony since they’d first resumed contact.

He fished his phone from his pocket and dialed the number Tony’d given him for emergencies. He’d told Steve it was one of those $30 brick phones from Walmart, the kind with independent service and a penchant for being tough to trace. Steve had memorized it that day.

He raised the phone to his ear, and it didn’t even ring. _The number you have reached has been disconnected. Please hang up and try –_

Steve felt sick. Something was wrong.

He felt stupid. For a week, almost _two_ , he’d been so wrapped up in his own problems that he didn’t even notice this glaring absence. This complete radio silence. So much for _secret_ _agent_.

But he didn’t have time for self-deprecation now. His heart pounded but his mind burst into action, narrowed and crystalized until things sharpened to sparkling clarity. He pulled the phone back from his ear and shot his eyes around the room, cataloguing every object, the angle of the doorway, the space between the two desks. He needed to get out of here.

He sent a quick text to Natasha, then glanced up at the camera in the corner of the office. It was 2:34, and a crew got sent in to fix a disabled camera after five minutes of it being offline. There was red and black bar-style dart board draped over the door, courtesy of Clint. It stared at him, and he felt like if it could wink it would have.

His cell pinged gently. _Be there in 30s._ He rolled his spongey brown office chair casually over to Clint’s desk, pushing his shirt sleeves up to the elbows. He dug through the top drawer, his fingers bumping over notecards and pocket knives until they wrapped around the pencil-thin steel body of a dart. He scraped his eyes over its metallic blue varnish, rolling it around in his palm, heavy and cold. He was pretty sure this would work, as long as he got the angle right.

Caging it in his fist, he stretched his arms high over his head and leaned back in his chair like he was bored, even while his stomach turned. This had to work. He let out a slow, aiming breath.

Five, four, three –

He wound his arm back and threw the dart, hard, with a snap of the wrist at the last instant. Steve watched it smack into the door, just left of the dart board and spun away in the opposite direction like a pin ball –

And smashed into the camera with a hard _thwack._ A crackling shower of glass and plastic exploded and clattered to the tile with the little dart. A second later, Steve spun his chair toward the opening door as Natasha slipped in, expression completely neutral.

“Having fun in here?”

“Oh yeah,” he said airily as he shot her a wide-eyed look. He flipped a notebook to a fresh sheet and clicked a pen and started writing. “You know how I love research.”

He flipped the page around to her. _Tony’s missing._

She pursed her lips, and Steve could name on one hand all the people on the planet who would have noticed how her green eyes flicked up to the broken camera above them. Steve was one of those people. “Need any help?”

He already had that old Amazon page open on his phone. For almost four months now he had tripped over the corners of Tony’s puzzle, struggling to piece together the complete picture he knew Tony had been trying to communicate. And he never asked about it over the phone; Steve and Tony both knew the laughable odds of a bugged phone, given both their backgrounds. But something was standing out to him now – something he’d looked over every time before this.

“Yeah, actually. This is a weird case, but there’s a pattern forming from the data that I’m just not quite connecting. Think you can take a look?”

Natasha bent in close to read the list, eyes bright with measured alarm as she took in the pieces of the jigsaw.

_Obediah album._

_Stane’s Coasters._

_Obediah Stane._

He could have smacked himself. How the _fuck_ had he missed that all this time?

Steve scribbled out a frantic note on the same notebook page. _Obediah Stane is Tony’s godfather. Real black market arms type._

“I can’t seem to pin down a location.”

She snatched a pen from the desk with a frown, scrawling in an elegant script while she talked. “What’s the last known location, we can track it from there.”

_Looks like Tony found something his godfather didn’t want found. Weapon hidden in Afghanistan. Stane Enterprises is in CA._

Steve shook his head, answering both. “Don’t think it’s that simple. There’s something wrong – this guy’s smart, he’s probably a thousand miles away from where we’d expect.”

Natasha’s eyes flicked up to him. “I doubt that. He’s got no clue SHIELD agents are on his trail.” And with the pen she wrote, _Tony is a ghost. Stane probably thinks no one’s noticed his disappearance._

She threw him a light glare that he knew was her form of comfort. “And besides, we’re smarter anyway.”

_Want me to inform Clint?_ Her deft fingers tore the page along the inseam then tore it in half, then in quarters, then in tiny, illegible pieces. She turned to him with a long, dark look.

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

Nothing short of his training kept Steve from jumping at the groan of the door as a curly head poked in. “Um – hi, maintenance? Heard a camera broke in here.”

Steve loosened every muscle that had knotted and tensed without his notice. “Oh – yeah, I was playing darts, trying to let off some steam and I missed one.” He went for a bashful shrug that Romanov raised an eyebrow at, but the agent seemed to buy it.

“Ah yeah, no biggie! Just gotta get that replaced.”

Natasha cocked her head at him with crossed arms, concern painting her features. “You are looking pretty wound up, Steve. I think this case is starting to get to you.”

Even as he swallowed around his own pounding heart Steve knew what she was doing, and he sighed, running a steady hand through his hair. “I am – I’ve been…hanging by a thread the past few days, to be honest. Sharon and I…we’re getting a divorce, and I’ve just been spread thin.”

And _how_ fucked up was it, that this was easy to admit now? Anything to bail him out of the headquarters so he could hunt down the sons of bitches that grabbed Tony. He saw Natasha frown at him.

“Rogers, what’re you even doing here? We had no clue.”

He shrugged, a phantom prickle of pain fluttering over his ribs but more than anything, he felt anxious to start moving, tracking. Life and action had narrowed to one simple objective: find. Tony.

“Tried to distract myself.”

Natasha grabbed his arm and lifted him bodily from his spongey office chair. “Go home. I’ll tell Fury you need a couple days. Call me or Clint if you need anything.”

Steve nodded, barely sparing her or the fumbling maintenance guy another glance before he was out the door into the too-bright florescent hallway, his pounding heart screaming at him to sprint.

***

A dark-haired head buried in two clenched, scarred hands. _He already has, Steve._

The air was too cold, bottlenecking thick somewhere around his Adam’s apple. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, cover his ears and shake his head, yell _no please Tony don’t tell me this._ He said, “What did he do?”

Time turned. It twisted and folded back like Euclidean geometry as Tony spoke in a voice like glass about Malibu, being twelve and terrified of his father, thirteen and his mother overdosing on antidepressants ( _Howard Stark’s Wife Dies Tragically – America Left in Shock_ ) of Obediah Stane. 2003. The winter before college, Tony finally broke and reached frantically toward the nearest adult he could find. Uncle Obie.

Tony’s breath hitched and stuttered as he told him about Obediah’s arm around him. Steve heard the words, saw Tony on his couch, curled in around himself with flat eyes and a dead tone. But he also saw a much smaller version of him, a child with floppy brown hair and scars that the cameras weren’t allowed to see. He saw a much more expensive couch slope under the weight of a large bull of a man sitting next to this kid, swallowing his tiny body in big arms, leaning in too close. He felt the vibrations of this man’s voice as he spoke softly to the child looking for comfort – _looking to be saved –_ and the man’s eyes. Too sharp to nurture.

The bodies crushed into one. Gigantic, knuckly fingers knotted too tight in dark curls while the child cried, cheeks flushed and wet and smashed into the leather. Steve blinked, and the Tony next to him who was his own body had a pale face, eyes drawn tight with a cold sort of panic. There was a spot between his brows, the one Steve always saw when Tony was working on a project, except the look in his eyes was haunted. Like he was facing a project that would kill him.

He’s after me, Tony said. He knows where I live. I studied hard, got into MIT as fast as I could so I could be away from him and it doesn’t matter now.

Steve felt weightless and heavy at once. As if gravity had moved from the ground beneath his tingling feet to the curled, broken man rubbing his forehead like he could scrub an image from his eyes. Steve didn’t think about reaching, touching, holding. He could only sit and stare and be pulled.

Edwards was not his last name. He had fabricated it when he ran. He ran across states, across pools of information and government databases. He ran until there were galaxies of ones and zeros separating him from his two torturers. Steve felt his heart thump heavily against his ribs, thinking to himself that this organ he’d always thought was his, was maybe someone else’s entirely.

Tony looked up then, brown eyes slamming into his and pulling him with so much force that he felt himself actually _lean._ Steve. I’m sorry for lying. But I never would have told you if he wasn’t after me. I just didn’t want to be raped anymore.

Steve felt his own head shake, and his vocal chords trembled around words that couldn’t possibly contain what he needed to say. “ _It’s okay. Tony, it’s okay.”_ He reached a hand out, fingertips scraping the air an inch from Tony’s arm, and couldn’t cross that distance. Equal and opposite reactions. Like bouncing after a long fall.

Steve bit his cheek so hard he tasted hot copper, looking for some command of reality. “Tony. I’m going to protect you from him.”

In response, those wet brown eyes only punched a deeper whole into him, digging and digging until he could swear he didn’t have a heart beat anymore. Tony had taken what was his.

***

_The number you have reached has been disconnected._

It sounded like it was being whispered through a tunnel. The phone burned in his shaking hand.

Every number he had. Every number Tony had _ever_ reached him from, thirty-four in total. All disconnected.

He squinted out the dirty window in his new living room, the muted blare of horns bleeding in from the streets two floors down. Everything in the room was dirty, like a tornado had touched down in the mouth of the hallway to his right and dissipated after hitting the Kenmore fridge against the back kitchen wall. Couldn’t be more different from his last house with Sharon. Steve scrubbed a hand through his hair and started to pace.

Known: Tony was missing. He was probably kidnapped by Obediah Stane. SHIELD didn’t have the barest clue where he was.

Unknown: Everything _the_ _fuck_ else.

He glided across the carpet, fingers itching for a pistol or something to hit. Instead he dug his nails hard into his palms, sucking in air through clenched teeth. He sped up, passing empty beer bottles and other random clutter coating the little discount coffee tables and heat pulsed up from his chest into his shoulders and what was he _supposed to do –_

He grabbed the dark neck of a Coor’s and flung it, the shatter against the brick wall sparking on his nerves. His steps turned to stomps that shook the walls, and that heat burst out of his arms and into the shit he was throwing and throwing and throwing before he was conscious of throwing it. His cell phone crushed itself into pieces on the carpet, the plastic and metal of the cable box smashed and grinded as it fell apart. He wanted to scream, to cry, to kill every motherfucker who had ever helped him get here where he was and he _hated_ Tony, he fucking hated him. Steve loved him and he was probably dead, and Steve would never forgive him for that –

He overturned the coffee table, bottles and cans and candles crashing to the floor in a chorus of broken glass. He couldn’t fucking believe this was happening, how had everything fallen apart so completely –

With the hot pound of blood in his ears he didn’t hear the window slide open. He didn’t turn around when a familiar voice started yelling for Steve to _stop_ , goddammit, _the fuck are you doing_? It wasn’t until large strong hands on his shoulders spun him around to face Clint that Steve realized he’d taken a dive into the deep end of the pool.

“Steve! C’mon man, talk to me!”

His chest was heaving like he’d run ten miles and he felt too much manic heat in his eyes. He couldn’t even talk for a minute. Clint’s hands stayed on Steve’s shoulders, lips pressed together and eyes steady like this was what SHIELD paid him to do every day.

“Clint…I…damn it.”

“Deep breaths Rogers. We got a job to do.”

Steve knotted his hands in his hair. “ _Ugh_ –”

He felt the soft twist of joints as Clint shook his head, even though Steve had covered his face. He could name the people he trusted not to wear a wire on one hand, and this man was one of them. “None of that, no time. This is a mission. Tell me what we got.”

One last breath. In, then out. And Steve opened his eyes, centered.

“Tony’s been kidnapped, I think by Obediah Stane. We need to track Stane’s whereabouts and get to Tony as quick as we can.”

Clint nodded. “Any leads?”

Steve shoved down the sudden writhing of his insides. “Not much. We know he’s doing some black market weapons developing in Afghanistan, but I doubt he’s taken him there.”

Clint blinked off to the right, staring past the shattered mess Steve had made of his living room. “I’ll get Nat on it. God knows she’s better at that shit than us.”

“Tracking?”

Clint met his eyes again. “Computers. Tony’s a hacker, right? You know Stane musta caught wind of the guy through fuckin’ ones and zeros. Tony musta slipped up, or Stane dug around his own servers. There’s probably a trail.”

Steve could have kissed him. “When can Nat get started on that?”

Clint smirked a little, pulling out his phone. “Right about…now?”

Steve frowned, opening his mouth to respond when the front door creaked open at his back.

“You boys starting without me?”

He turned and there she was, arms crossed and wild red hair framing that ever-unimpressed face of hers. Steve almost wanted to laugh.

“How did…how’d you two get away?”

Clint’s smile looked evil. “Skill.”

Natasha stepped over Steve’s smashed possessions until she was facing them both. “I vote we head to a public library or a tech store. I need a computer.” She looked at Steve then, her eyes digging into his with something that burned and anchored.

“Don’t worry, Steve. We’re gonna find him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, thank you so much to everyone who's left comments and support, ya'll mean the world to me <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow everybody I'm sorry for the crazy wait on this one. I do have a legitimate excuse, I laid it out in the comments of Chapter 11 for anyone who's mad. I mean you can still be mad of course, I wouldn't blame you lol, but at any rate it's there for anyone who wants an explanation.
> 
> Anyway, it's heating up now! Thank you to everyone who's commented and left kudos and stuck with me through this awful months-long dry spell. I hope you enjoy this update, and you can expect another one soon :) Thanks everyone!!

“Nope.”

“Tony – ”

“No deal, Stevie-bear. Nope.”

“It’s just for the afternoon – ”

Tony crossed his arms. “Bucky’s great. Swell guy. Pretty hair. Also, I can fucking take care of myself.”

“This isn’t about – ”

“Steve, I don’t need a nanny. Grown-ass man here.”

He scrubbed an exasperated hand down his face. He was going to be very late for work if they kept going on like this. “”I know. But I have to work, and you being alone here is gonna drive me nuts. It’s for my benefit, Tony, not yours.”

The tightness in Tony’s crossed arms stayed drawn like rope. “What’s he gonna be able to do, Steve? Think about it.”

He blinked. “Um. Prior military? He’s trained for combat, babe.”

A darkness – a deep flicker Steve had caught sight of too often since Friday – settled in his boyfriend’s brown eyes as they looked past him.

“Steve…training isn’t enough. So – it’d be peachy, if no one died because I happened to be near them. I’d rather – ” His voice cracked, and he looked down. Steve refused to let the sudden, cruel twist of his gut show on his face.

“Rather what? Wait for him to come for you?”

He watched Tony chew on the inside of his cheek. Watched every curve and edge of that drawn face. He signed.

“Tony. Please – trust me, when I say I’m not gonna let him touch you. You might not believe me, but…plus, think it through – if he’s tracking you through computers, doesn’t it make sense to leave your house? Go someplace with a computer you _haven’t_ hacked before?” He watched Tony swallow. “Wait, you haven’t hacked Bucky’s computer before, right? Because he might kill you if – ”

Tony snorted, raising a hand to wave it. “I haven’t hacked his shit. I was just…considering your idea. Pretty smart there. I’m supposed to be the genius, you’re encroaching on my hard-won territory.”

Steve chanced a little smile. “So you’re down with the plan?”

Tony’s jaw tightened, but he let out a strained, “s’pose.”

Steve kept his hands slow as he reached up and held him by the arms. “This is not going to hurt anyone. It’s not gonna hurt you, or Bucky – and for what it’s worth, it’ll make _me_ feel a helluva lot better while I’m at work.”

Tony let out a breath and stepped in, his head tucking neatly under Steve’s chin. That familiar bubbling warmth filled his chest and he wrapped his arms tight around him.

“You could stay home. You know. Entertain me.” Tony’s voice was muffled from Steve’s collar and he wished, not for the first time and not for the last, that Tony talked more when he had these rare vulnerable moments.

He’d been very careful with Tony, at first, right after he’d told him about his godfather. He’d spoken softly, and touched gingerly if he touched at all. But then Tony had glared at him. _I’m not scared of you, muscles, so stop being scared of me._ They’d fallen back into familiar patterns, after that. Steve ached to hold and hover and take care of him, but it was just an ache and Steve could deal, because that was far from what Tony needed. From what he could gather, Tony needed to know that Steve loved him just the same as before.

(He didn’t love him the same. He loved him stronger now, and fiercer, but saying something like that wouldn’t register with someone like Tony.)

Steve could only keep his arms open, in case Tony chose to fall into them.

“Can’t. Someone’s gotta be the breadwinner now.”

“I am no one’s housewife.”

“You don’t have the sudden urge to make me a sandwich?”

“Fuck you.” He laughed, then tightened his grip around Tony’s waist.

“Seriously though. Bucky’s.”

Tony sighed. “Sure. Let’s fucking – ugh. Let’s drop me off at daycare.”

Steve tried not to smile while he buried his face in Tony’s hair. “It’s just for a few hours.”

Tony shook his head, the soft black curls brushing against Steve’s lips. “I tell you one damn childhood fun fact and suddenly I’m some delicate porcelain doll that can’t be left alone for half a day – ”

“That’s not what this is about.” Steve pulled back, sliding his hands back up to Tony’s arms and giving him a hard look. “This isn’t me not trusting you. This is me, keeping you safe from the sick fucking psychopath who’s after you. I know you can look after yourself, Tony. More so because of the shit he put you through, not less. This is me making sure nothing happens. Totally different.”

Tony’s glaring brown eyes looked stuck, as if he didn’t quite trust what he heard. So Steve shrugged.

“I’m protective. And thorough.” He hesitated, then kept going. “This…is what makes me feel better. You have your machines, I have my strategies.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, but shed a bit of that guarded look that had shadowed his face. “Well, in that case.” He pulled out his pack of smokes, and Steve instantly started protesting. “–Upupup, hush now, this conversation stressed me out. I need something before we hit the road. A consolation prize.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “A prize that’ll give you cancer. When are you gonna quit that stuff, Tony?”

“C’mon Rogers, don’t be a sore winner.” He pinched the cigarette between his lips and lit it, dragging in deep. A film of calm glassed over his brown eyes, and the smoke rolled out of his mouth in one long, liquid stream. Steve thought he looked beautiful like this. Not that he’d ever say that out loud. He didn’t want to encourage him.

In the next drag, Tony pinned him with this heavy, considering look. He spoke on the smoky exhale. “Tell you what.” He dug into his pocket. “During the day, you keep my lighter. I won’t smoke till night time when you get home and give it back to me. That sounds like progress.”

He grabbed Steve’s hand and dropped the lighter in his palm, cold and heavy. It glistened under the yellow bulbs at the ceiling. He stared at it, and he knew this was Tony trusting him a little more, and God it made him smile, the strange ways his boyfriend expressed his feelings.

But Tony, who never paused to bask in the little victories, was already walking around him and grabbing his coat off the hook.

“Over the river and through the woods, to Bucky Barnes’ house we go. Chop chop, soldier.”

Steve smiled, and caught up with him so he could lace their hands together as they stepped out into the hall.

***

“No way this’ll work.”

Clint smirked behind comically round sunglasses, looking totally at home in his bewildering tasseled shirt. If Steve didn’t know him, he’d think Clint was a Gulf War vet going through some sort of Post-Traumatic hippie transition. “You’d be surprised my friend.”

Clint’s getup was better than his though. If Clint looked like an Enya enthusiast, Steve and Nat looked like they hadn’t missed a Justin Timberlake concert since SexyBack.

Also, Steve’s heart was knotting up somewhere near his larynx and Clint’s relaxed posture was pissing him off. “Somehow I doubt you’ve actively evaded SHIELD before.”

Clint turned more fully in his direction and raised his left eyebrow so high that Steve saw the top of it over his lenses. “Bold assumption. How’d SHIELD offer _you_ the job?”

“It’d be real nice if you two could shut it,” Nat said dryly, tapping away at the laptop keys. They were in the middle of the goddamn mall, in the Apple store. There were people at their six who could open fire if anyone had followed them in here. Oh, and Tony was missing. Steve swallowed down the rush of electricity that crashed into him every couple minutes when he reminded himself of that.

The taptaptap of the computer keys dragged on while Clint looked unconcerned and Steve must have looked constipated, until after a moment Natasha stopped. “Huh.”

“What, what is it?” He leaned forward, and saw an online map detailing Chicago roadways. “What did you find?”

She turned and gave him a look that could peel paint. “If you’d turned on the news, you probably would’ve figured this out on your own.”

He glared at her. “Sorry, I’ve been a little preoccupied. What did you find?”

She threw him one last glance before turning back to the screen and opening the MSN homepage, of all things. The leading story panel was this hellish, flaming expanse of rubble and ash. Nat clicked on it.

“In the Fulton River District in Chicago, a warehouse suddenly exploded, destroying everything in about a mile radius. Authorities haven’t reported identifying any bodies yet, but they did find the diffused shell of a WMD.”

Clint whistled lowly, and Steve widened his eyes. “What?”

She nodded. “They’re trying to piece together the blueprints on how it might have functioned before it was diffused. Press is having a field day, want to know why?” She turned and her eyes bore into his. “That warehouse belonged to Stane Industries.”

The name made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “What are you saying.”

She turned back to the computer, typed in inexplicable lines of code. “I’m saying, Tony probably set it off. Especially if they haven’t found any bodies. Who else knows about this weapon, the one _Tony_ warned us about, and has enough of a moral compass to evacuate the place before destroying it?”

Clint nodded. “You think he…got out of there too?”

There was a tiny silence that followed, where first Steve wanted to choke the life out of Clint for hinting that Tony might be gone, and then he realized that he might be. He got a flash of Tony dead, burning up somewhere in a millionth of a second, his arms and legs blowing off and the skin peeling from his face. Just like that, the wave of frigid electric heat rushed into his lungs until he felt like he was the one with hands squeezing around his throat, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t –

He saw in his tunneling vision that Clint and Natasha had both turned in his direction, and he reminded himself that they were in a very public place. If his knees buckled, it would make a scene, and it would take that much longer to find Tony and get him home safe. He shoved it down, fought it back with a couple deep breaths and a vicious mental push. Then he looked up, feeling a little more dead than he had a moment ago, and met their concerned expressions.

“What other possibilities are there?”

Natasha’s frown grounded him. “Dozens. I think he hacked remotely into the weapon’s mainframe, made it short circuit.”

“Why?” He said it through clenched teeth. He tried not to cling to the hope, but it was like defying gravity.

She tapped away until a new window popped up, a black background with random lines of white text stamped with dates and times. “I broke into Stane’s server. He was sifting through the OVS for almost a whole day after the explosion.”

Clint hummed. Steve turned to him. “What?”

“The OVS, it’s a big surveillance system that monitors Chicago – they’ve got around three thousand cameras all over the city,” Clint said, pointing at the computer screen. “It’s run by Homeland Security, but you can use it to track people if you’re granted a certain level of access.”

“And Stane would be, with his connections,” Natasha muttered.

Clint smirked. “Lucky we are too.”

Natasha shook her head. “We don’t want SHIELD on our radar, we can’t use our access. I just hacked it.”

Steve blinked. “You hacked the Department of Homeland Security?” She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him.

“What, not comfortable with that?”

He shook his head. “Not what I said. Just forgot for a second that all my friends are spies.”

“That’s not true,” Clint piped up helpfully. “Your friend Sam, he’s like a shrink.”

If he weren’t so miserable, Steve would have laughed. “You got me there, Clint.”

A moment later, Natasha nodded at the screen. “I’m in. Now the date of the explosion was the twelfth – we’re gonna go back to that evening, watch all the cameras surrounding the warehouse and wait till we see Tony.”

She tapped a key, and time started reeling back like a spool of thread. People walked backwards, drove backwards, fought and carried groceries and kissed backwards with Lake Michigan’s glistening water soaking the background. She selected five views, and Steve spotted what could only be Stane’s warehouse in each of them, huge and nondescript. Steve and Clint leaned toward the screen on either side of Natasha to get a better view.

And then Tony was suddenly _there_. Grainy brown eyes, that face whose curve Steve had mapped in the dark at night…even through this pixelated low-definition lens Steve’s heart lurched toward him and opened to receive him, whispered _baby baby I missed you please come home_ –

He held his breath as he watched Tony move, sneaking to the side of the warehouse and slipping through the heavy steel doors. Not seeing him was painful. Like injecting a pinprick of heroin into the crook of your elbow, pulling back and saying _that’s enough to tide you over_. Steve decided then, that if they both survived this, he was going to hold onto that man and never let go.

The timestamp sped up, and his breath froze as he watched Tony step out into view again and start running at breakneck speed. A few minutes later, the camera went white.

“That’s one hell of an explosion,” Clint muttered, and Steve almost jumped. He’d forgotten that his two friends were next to him. “Least we know Tony made it out, though.”

Steve nodded thickly, and he frowned when Natasha started typing again. “Now we need to rewind it. See what Stane saw.”

Time reeled backwards again, the night thinning out as Nat deftly followed Tony through camera after camera on his way to the warehouse, leaving a motel, hot-wiring a car (that was a surprise, even though it probably shouldn’t have been), popping into a coffee shop, bouncing through motel after motel, never staying in one place, but never leaving Chicago, either.

“He musta known where the missile was.”

Steve nodded. “He probably planned for a bit, figured out when to strike.”

In his periphery, he saw Nat frown and pause the camera. Steve leaned in to see Tony at a pay phone, leaning close into the mouth piece. Steve glanced at the date and time stamped into the corner and cursed.

“He was calling me.”

They both looked over at him, recognition darkening their eyes. “Was this the last time he called you?”

Steve swallowed around his heart. “Yeah.”

“You know Stane probably saw this. Probably figured out who Tony was calling.”

Natasha clicked her way back to that plain black background. Stane’s server. She started typing, and after a moment she leaned back.

“He figured it out. He searched your name, Steve.”

His veins turned to ice. “What, how did he –”

“My bet is there was a camera with audio somewhere in the vicinity. He searched your name and Bucky Barnes’s. He must’ve come up in the conversation.”

Steve was going to be sick. “Why would he – what does he know?”

Natasha pursed her lips. “Well, his next search is the list of SHIELD’s top agents, so take your best guess.”

He couldn’t feel his fingers. “He thinks Tony was tipping me off. Tipping SHIELD off.”

“Which, I mean, he was,” Clint muttered. “He tried to tell us all about this, we didn’t catch on fast enough. But now Stane’s gonna want to know how much Tony told SHIELD.”

“He’s going to torture him.” He vaguely registered the heavy pounding in the middle of his chest, like his heart was trying to rip itself free.

Natasha pinned him with an anchoring look. “This was a couple weeks ago, so…Stane already has. That’s a best-case scenario.”

Steve stared hard at the frozen face of his boyfriend, secretive and afraid and trying to get Steve to understand. He remembered that conversation. He didn’t know which part of their phone call had put that expression on his face. If he had just listened harder, asked more questions –

“I’ll find you, baby. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find you.”

***

“Rogers, a word.”

Steve turned back to Fury, field reports in hand. “Sir?”

Fury looked from him and glared at Clint, who was lingering. “Everybody else get out.”

Clint raised his hands up in mock surrender and scooted the rest of the way out the door. Then Steve was alone with the Colonel.

Fury gestured for him to sit back down at his usual spot around the glass conference table. “I’ve got an update, Captain, that is best not shared with the rest of our team.”

Steve frowned. “What is it, sir?”

Fury leaned forward a little and interlocked his fingers, looking slightly irritated – though to be fair, that could’ve just been his face. “I sifted through all our contacts, and planted agents at their facilities.”

Steve paused. “Why is this confidential information?”

Fury pursed his lips. “I considered what you said a while back, regarding your hacker. I’ve decided it’s best to leave no stone unturned.”

“Have the agents uncovered anything, anything that would align with the hacker’s motives?”

Fury gave him a glare. “I said leave no stone unturned, Captain, not send a friend request to the individual compromising SHIELD’s security.” He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. “We’re not naming motives yet. However, there are a few companies on our list that have thrown up red flags.”

Steve studied his hands through the glass table. “How red?”

“Very.”

He pursed his lips, then looked at him. “Why are you telling me this? And why are we not telling the others?”

Fury’s eye dug into him. “Because, in the event that your theory is correct, and this hacker is tipping us off…I need you to dispose of him anyway.”

He blinked. “What? But if they can be an asset to –”

“Half your colleagues were recruited by the same means you’re suggesting. They will not obey my orders if I give them all the pieces to this puzzle. But I need you to understand that I am not being close-minded here. This person’s IQ – well, I’ve never seen anything like it. Someone with this kind of power...it’s a stupid-ass decision to play with fire.”

It came out before Steve could bite his tongue. “So now we’re an intelligence organization that _fears_ intelligence?”

The Colonel’s face turned stony and dangerous. “Just put out the fire.”

His stomach was full of churning acid and his mouth was full of retorts, but he knew that this conversation was over. “Yes, sir.”

Fury nodded, and Steve wanted to punch him. Ordering hits on potentially innocent people just to prove his authority –

“Very good. Have a nice night, Captain.”

Steve nodded stiffly and stood, walking out the door and wondering if this was the sort of job he wanted. Keeping his head down and saying yessir to orders he didn’t agree with, being a hitman to someone like Fury, who didn’t seem to care much for the value of human life.

He shuffled his way through the halls, down to the garage. He weaved through the evening traffic, feeling hollow and filthy for what he had to do.

The hacker was innocent; he could feel it in his bones. Maybe he’d – subtly – talk to Natasha, see if there wasn’t some way to work Fury around – he knew she’d been successful in that regard before.

He wriggled his car into a good parking spot and got out, mentally washing the conversation from his face and feelings. He knocked on Bucky’s door, and after a second he heard the metallic slide of the chain lock and the door popped open, Buck smiling easily back at him.

“Took you so long, you work late today?”

Steve smiled. “A little bit, traffic was awful.”

He stepped inside Bucky’s apartment and Tony was there, Metallica T-shirt and all, elbows-deep in what looked to be Bucky’s computer monitor. Tony looked up and smiled at him, black curls falling into his eyes a little bit, and Steve felt all that heaviness slide off him.

“Hey, muscles! How was your day?”

“It was good. Looks like you’re staying busy.”

Tony shrugged a little, reaching his hand back into the machine to grab at something Steve couldn’t see. “Yup, I fixed Bucky’s DVD player, now I’m moving on to bigger and better things.”

Bucky leaned against the kitchen counter to his right, shaking his head. “There was nothing wrong with my DVD player.”

Tony smirked. “Yeah, well now it’s a blu-ray player, so kneel at the feet of your lord and savior, the great Tony Stark.”

Steve laughed. “Getting a little big for your britches, I think?”

Tony looked up and gave him a scalding look. “…That was the oldest, most outdated thing you’ve ever said. And that’s saying a lot.”

He held in a laugh, feeling light and not so dirty, and he sat on the loveseat across from Tony’s mechanical nest on the floor. “So what is it that you’re doing now?”

Tony’s eyes were alight with the energy of having a project, but they had purple shadows under them. His pink lips pulled up at the corners, and Steve’s eyes followed the movement.

“Not to kick you while you’re down, what with that ah – grandpa joke, but you wouldn’t understand the mechanics of it.”

“Break it down in layman’s terms for me.”

Tony looked at him, then at Bucky too. “Well, in a nutshell, I’m getting rid of any possibility of viruses or malware, and I’m also upping the clarity of the screen. Because, what’s the point of watching crystal clear movies if you can’t play a crystal-clear, glitch-free version of – what is it that you play again, Bucky?”

Bucky crossed his arms, looking more amused than embarrassed. “World of Warcraft. And sometimes Minecraft.”

Tony nodded, pulling out a small chip and holding it up to the light. “That’s right, all the Crafts.”

Steve threw Bucky a look. “You play World of Warcraft?”

Bucky shrugged, unconcerned. “I am what I am.”

Steve shook his head, smiling. “And all these years, I never knew you had a secret double-life.”

“See, Bucky, it wasn’t just your DVD player that needed fixing,” Tony said, grabbing a screwdriver. “Your friendship with Steve will be beautiful without all these secrets between you.”

Steve’s stomach gave an uneasy roll at that. Bucky shook his head, glancing back at the stove. “I’m making Ramen if you guys want some?”

Tony perked his head up. “High-quality, I like it.”

Steve laughed. “Sure.”

Bucky made his way around the counter and into the kitchen. “Then we can watch a movie with my recently-upgraded DVD player if you want, Christen it the right way.”

Tony’s lips stretched into a huge, slow grin that still made Steve’s breath catch, even after all this time. “Ramen and Rocky.”

Bucky turned from his spot in front of the burner. “I actually have Rocky Road ice cream too, we can make it a thing.”

“Have I ever told you, Bucky dear, that you are the coolest human ever?”

Steve watched Buck’s cheeks lift, and he heard a quiet laugh. “Nah, but I’ll claim that title now. Sucks to be you, Steve.”

Tony started organizing the mechanical mess he’d created, and shoved it to the side so that you could see the television from the couch. “Oh!” He straightened and made his way to Steve, plopping down next to him. He smelled good, and Steve longed to wrap around him and hold on tight. “Got my lighter, sweet cheeks?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but couldn’t reign in a little smile. “You really didn’t smoke at all today?”

Tony smirked. “I commit when I commit, darling. Now gimme.”

He pulled it out of his jacket pocket, heavy and glistening, and handed it over with a smile. “I should not be using cigarettes as positive reinforcement.”

Tony winked at him. “We all do shit we’re not proud of sometimes, don’t be hard on yourself baby. Bucky, mind if I use your balcony for a couple minutes?”

Buck nodded, and Tony rose from Steve’s side and sauntered out the sliding glass door, shutting it behind him. They stayed in amiable silence for a minute or two, Steve on the couch, Bucky with his back to him at the stove, until Buck's low voice broke it.

“He’s worried about you, you know.”

Steve blinked. “Me?”

Bucky chuckled as he stirred noodles in the pot. “Who else, dumbass.”

“Why would he be worried?”

Buck shrugged. “He said this whole thing is stressing you out. I mean I don’t blame you, if I were in your shoes I’d be a wreck.”

Steve stood and walked into the kitchen, perching himself on top of the counter. “I’m not the one he should be worried about. I’m fine.”

Bucky turned to eye him sideways. “Are you?”

Steve frowned at him. Bucky sighed and turned off the burner, spinning around to lean against the counter. “Steve, from what I can gather, Tony’s used to this. The running, and the hiding from people, and – the threat, you know? I mean it sucks, but I honestly think he’s managing.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Buck held a hand up and kept talking.

“I’m serious man, when’s the last time you got some good sleep? Don’t bullshit me either, I know all your tells.”

Steve looked down at the off-while linoleum. “Been a while.” He paused, then threw his head up to pin Bucky with a look. “But Tony _never_ sleeps well. I can’t just – treat him like he’s a soldier, he’s fucking not, Bucky. He was never trained for this.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Steve, he was _raised_ with it. What better training do you need? Look – I’m not saying you shouldn’t worry, because God knows that kid needs all the worry and care he can get. But he’s not – a brittle person, you know? He’s durable.”

Steve growled. “How the hell do you know, Buck? What makes you think you know more than me?”

Bucky shook his head, didn’t back off. “Because I’ve talked to him, and anyone who’s been around him for more than twenty minutes can tell how adaptable he is.”

Steve wanted to argue, but he agreed. He knew how flexible Tony’s psyche was. With what he’d gone through, he should have shattered. But he didn’t – he just sort of grew with it.

“You’re close enough to him that it’s hard to see, but Tony’s not gonna break if you stop for a second to take care of yourself. There’s no point in hovering over someone who, all things considered, _really_ has his shit together. S’all I’m saying.”

Steve crossed his arms, and he felt angry and defensive but had nowhere to put that feeling because he knew Bucky was right. “M’not gonna stop worrying.”

“Y’don’t have to. You just – should consider taking a nap, or giving yourself a lazy day. S'not a tall order, man.”

Steve pursed his lips, and behind him he heard the back door slide open. Bucky smiled and pushed off of the counter. “Or, a movie night with Ramen and ice cream.”

Steve considered for a second, then narrowed his eyes. “Was this a setup?”

“No idea what you’re talking about, muscles.” Tony swung around to his side, leaning against him and pinning him with a bright smile. “Bucky talk you into a spa day?”

Steve looked between the two of them, baffled and appalled. “This _was_ a setup!”

Tony tapped his finger to Steve’s nose. “Hey, you needed some kinda intervention. I was getting secondhand nerves just from being in your presence.”

Steve furrowed his brows, and felt a little bit guilty. He’d thought he was doing a good job at containing everything, keeping it to himself.

“Babe.” He looked at Tony, who was smiling gently up at him with those abysmal brown eyes. He had dark circles underneath them from lack of sleep, but inside they were warm and sad and scared and confident and playful. A whole person in there, not just the fragile parts. “Take a night off. Eat some ice cream.” He took his hands and pulled him toward the living room. “It’ll be fun.”

Steve wrestled with a smile but eventually lost, and his best friend and his boyfriend let out joyful little whoops as he let himself get dragged over to the couch. The opening credits began, with Bucky shoveling crappy food aplenty into his mouth while Tony leaned his head against his shoulder and tried feeding Steve marshmallows from the ice cream bowl with only a partial success rate.

It wasn’t about hope – the noodles' high sodium concentration didn’t convince him that one day he’d be something better than a hired mercenary. Watching Rambo face impossible odds in stunning HD quality didn’t make him think his boyfriend was any safer or less scared. The world continued that merciless spin around its axis.

But Bucky stayed awake, solid and quiet on his left, and Tony eventually fell asleep against him on his right – and he figured he could let himself relax for a few hours. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around Tony’s shoulders, nuzzled his soft hair, and left himself melt into the cracks of the leather couch.

Before he knew it, it was morning. Bucky and Tony were both still sleeping at his sides.


End file.
